24. 



THE 

RHYTHMICAL READER: 



BEING 

A SELECTION OF PIECES 

IN 

ssssa ill? 3) V33ga 3 

PRESENTED UNDER A SYSTEM OF NOTATION WHICH EXHIBITS THE 
MEASURE OF SPEECH, THE QUANTITIES OF SYLLABLES, AND 
THE JUST ADMEASUREMENT OF PAUSES, 

DESIGNED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS, 

A3 WELL AS FOR THE INSTRUCTION OF PRIVATE INDIVIDUALS 
WHO WISH TO IMPROVE THEMSELVES 

IN THE, ART OF V 
READING AND SPEAKING. 

BY ANDREW COMSTOCK,M.D. 

AUTHOR OF PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR— 100 ARCH STREET. 

WILLIAM BROWN, PRINTER. 

1832. 



Entered, according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1832, by 
ANDREW COMSTOCK, M. D. 
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 
Pennsylvania. 



///* 



PREFACE. 



In the year 1830, 1 published a volume, entitled 
Practical Elocution ; or, The Art of Reading $i?n- 
plijied. It consisted of extracts from the writings 
of various authors, presented under the notation 
of Joshua Steele. Since that period I have been 
solicited by a number of respectable teachers to 
publish another work on the same plan, with the 
exclusion of pieces of a dramatic character. I, 
therefore, present the public with a work of this 
description. 

In this, as in the former work, I have used 
Steele's notation. This notation divides discourse 
into rhythmical sections, gives the length of each 
syllable, and the place and duration of each pause ; 
and by its ingenious construction enables a reader 
to bring out the sense in a clear and forcible man- 
ner, without hurrying respiration, and, consequently, 
without producing exhaustion: for, even under the 



4 



PREFACE. 



most energetic delivery, according to this system 
of notation, the respiratory function is but slightly 
disturbed. The notation, however, cannot be duly 
appreciated by those who are not practically ac- 
quainted with the system; but I feel confident, 
that whoever does become practically acquainted 
with it, will not deny its utility. 



INTRODUCTION. 



OF ARTICULATION. 

A good Articulation consists in the distinct utter- 
ance of the elements of speech, either separately, or when 
combined into words ; and in making such a distinction 
between syllables, that the ear may readily perceive to 
which syllable each element belongs.^ 

Without good articulation it is impossible to be a 
correct reader or speaker. Those who have been accus- 
tomed to pronounce their words in a careless or slovenly 
manner, will find it difficult, even with their best efforts, 
to utter them distinctly : the organs of articulation, 
for the want of proper exertion, having become, as it 
were, paralyzed. The pupil, therefore, at the very com- 
mencement of his studies, should be conducted through a 
series of exercises, calculated to strengthen the muscles 
of articulation, and render them obedient to the will. 
The best method for effecting these purposes, is to exer- 
cise the voice on the elements of speech : first, on each 
element separately ; and then, on some of their most dif- 
ficult combinations. 

The number of elementary sounds in the English lan- 
guage is thirty-eight. They are usually divided into 
vowels and consonants ; but the division of Dr. Rush is 
much better. Without discarding altogether former di- 

* See Sheridan's Lectures. 

A2 



6 



INTRODUCTION. 



visions of the elements, he makes a new classification? 
founded on their use in intonation. He arranges them 
under three general heads— Tonics, Sulfonics, and 
Atonies* 

The Tonics "consist of different sorts of vocality," 
and are the most important agents in intonation. They 
are usually denominated vowel sounds. Their num- 
ber is fifteen. 

The Subtonics possess « variously among themselves, 
properties analogous to those of the tonics, but differing 
in degree." They amount to fourteen. 

The Jltonics are mere aspirations. They are nine in 
number. 



Table of the Elements 



Tonics. 




a as heard in ale, day, fate. 


a 


arm, farm. 


a 


all, lau;, for, orb. 


a 


an, man, idea, fat. 




eel, eve, see, imitate. 




end, met. 


I 

1 


isle, ice %, pine. 


i 


in, pin, .England. 


6 


old, no, more, oats. 


6 


ooze, lose, too, to, move, fool. 


6 


on, lock, not. 


ii 


few, tube, pupil. 


ft 


up, her, hurt. 


U 


full, pull, wolf. 


ou 


our, now, flour, flower. 



INTRODUCTION. 



7 



Subtonics. 

b as heard in £ow, ovb, barb. 



(1 


day, bid, did. 


g 


#ay, %, g-ig-. 


1 


/ight, a//, /u//. 


m 


mind, stor/??, ?naim. 


n 


no, on, ni;?e. 


Kg 


song-, think, finger. 


r 


roe, war, rare, orb* 


th 


Men, wiM, beneaM. 


V 


file, life, vivid, t>alye. 


w 


wo, wave, world* 


y 


#oke, ponder. 


z 


rone, his, Xenophoru 


zh 


arure, enclosure. 


Jltonics. 




f as heard in/ame, if, dri/t 


h 


he, Aence. 


k 


/kite, wrec&, ca&e* 


P 


j»it, up, ajot. 


s 


sin, yes, crisp, celL 


, sh 


sAine, pusA, flushed, 


t 


take, it, o&ts, 


th 


thin, Xvwth, months* 


wh 


when, wAich, wAat. 



Six of the tonic elements are Monothongs ; that is, 
they have a uniform sound throughout their concrete 
movement. The remaining nine are Diphthongs, and 
"have different sounds for the extremes of their intervals* " 



8 



INTRODUCTION. 



The monothongs are, e, <§, I, 6, fl, 11. The diphthongs 
are, a, a, a, a, i, 6, 6, u, ou. 

The diphthongs a and i have each a peculiar sound for 
their radical, and the monothong e for their vanish a, 
a, a, and 6, have each a peculiar sound for their radical, 
and the monothong u for their vanish jf 6, it, and ou have 
each a peculiar sound for their radical, and the mono- 
thong 6 for their vanish. For the purpose of illustration, 
let the letters which represent the diphthongs, stand only 
for the radicals of these elements — then the analysis of 
the diphthongs may be shown, thus : 

Radicals. Vanishes. 



a e 

a i 

k u 

a u 

l e 

6 6 

6 fi 

u 6 

ou 6 
The tonic elements should be exploded from the throat 

* The note of speech, or a single effort of the voice on an element or 
syllable, according to Dr. Rush, commences with a certain degree of ful- 
ness, and gradually diminishes till its termination. The two parts of the 
movement thus distinguished, he calls the radical and vanish. The term 
concrete includes both radical and vanish. 

t The compound nature of the diphthongs k, a, a, and 6, is not very 
perceptible, unless they are pronounced interrogatively, and with long 
quantity. 



INTRODUCTION. 



9 



in every range of pitch within the compass of the voice, 
and with every possible degree of force.* 

This is a very important exercise. It strengthens the 
voice, by giving it body ; or, in other words, (if I may 
use the expression,) by increasing its density, or specific 
gravity. The notes of a public speaker, who has this ex- 
plosive power of the voice, fall with distinctness upon the 
ear; whereas, those of another whose voice has not been 
improved by this exercise, are often feeble and inefficient., 

But the exploding of the elements answers a far more 
important purpose than that of developing the voice; it 
is a powerful means of invigorating the pulmonary organs. 
All the blood, in the course of its circulation, passes 
through the lungs, and there undergoes a change, not 
only essential to health, but also to life. Whenever the 
lungs become debilitated, they do not properly perform 
their office ; and hence the whole system suffers : in fact, 
the very citadel of life is sapped, and unless efficient mea- 
sures are taken to enable the lungs to recover their tone, 
death is the result. Now, one of the best remedies for 
strengthening the lungs, and securing them against the 
invasion of disease, is to exercise the voice on the tonic 
elements. If every individual, both male and female, were 
daily to explode these elements, and read a few pages 
aloud, according to theprinciples laid down in this volume, 
the number of deaths from pulmonary affections, especially 

* An element is exploded in the following manner : make a full inspi- 
ration, and close the throat — then utter the element with a sudden emis- 
sion of the breath. The process is somewhat analogous to a single act 
of coughing 



10 



INTRODUCTION* 



consumption, I have no doubt, would be, in a measure, di- 
minished. My pupils have frequently told me, that they al- 
ways feel better after the exercise. A young gentleman 
who has been in the practice of resorting to a gymnasium for 
the benefit of his health, assures me that he has derived 
more advantage from exploding the elements and reading 
aloud, thanhehasfrom his gymnastic exercises. Let those, 
therefore, who visit gymnasiums for the purpose of exer- 
cising their limbs, not forget the equally important gym- 
nastics of the pulmonary organs. In schools, the exer- 
cise of exploding the elements, should never be neglected. 
There can be no objection raised against it on account of 
its taking time— it need not occupy more than five mi- 
nutes, as the whole school can explode them in concert.^ 
The pupil should exercise his voice every day upon the 
subtonics and atonies. The subtonics should be uttered 
in the most energetic manner, and with long quantity. 
Much of the beauty of good reading depends on the dis- 
tinct utterance of the subtonic and atonic elements. 

Table exhibiting the Analysis of Words, in which there 
are easy combinations of Elements. 

In the first column are presented a few words as they 
are usually spelt ; in the second, their elements, separated 
by hyphens. Let the pupil spell the words, uttering, se- 
parately, each element, and not the name of the letter, as 
is generally done in the schools, 

* The author has published a table of the elements, on a large scale, 
for the use of Schools, Gymnasiums, and private families. It is varnish- 
ed, and mounted on rollers, like a map. 



INTKODUCTION. 



11 



Note.*— The subtonic th is printed in small capitals^ 
and the atonic th in italics, that one may not be mistak- 
en for the other. 



ale 


a-1 


flew 


f-l-i 


day 


d-a 


crew 


k-r-5 


fame 


f-a-m 


tube 


t-u-b 


arm 


a-r-m 


up 


ft-p 


cart 


k-a-r-t 


flirt 


f-l-fi-r-t 


all 


a-1 


wool 


w-fi-1 


call 


k-a-1 


pull 


p-ft-1 


awe 


k 


our 


ou-r 


orb 


a-r-b 


power 


p-ou-u-r 


morn 


m-a-r-n 


blame 


b-l-a-m 


add 


a-d 


claim 


k-l-a-m 


lamb 


1-a-m 


spoil 


s-p-a-i-1 
d-a-r 


eve 


1 

e-v 


dare 


leave 


1-e-v 


fair 


f-a-r 


plea 


p-i-e 


think 


2A-i-ng~k 
b-e-n-e-TH 


deeds 


d-e-d-z 


beneath 


end 


g-n-d 


faith 


f-a-/A 


net 


n-g-t 


yoke 


y-6-k 


isle 


i-1 


lady 


1-a-d-e 


file 


f-i-1 


world 


w-ft-r-I-d 


sky 


s-k-i 


fight 


f-i-t 


ink 


i-ng-k 


thought 


M-a-t 


oak 


6-k 


shrine 


sh-r-i-n 


more 


m-6-r 


loaves 


1-6-v-z 


mow 


m-6 


noise 


n-a-e-z 


ooze 


6-z 


disdain 


d-i-z-d-a-n 


lose 


1-6-z 


nature 


n-a-t-$A-y-u*r 


to 


t-S 


feign 


f-a-n 


on 


6-n 


thumb 


M-u-m 


lock 


1-S-k 


shrub 


sA-r-u-b 


flock 


f-l-6-k 


azure 


a-zh-y-u-r 


once 


w-u-n-s 


spice 


s-p-i-s 
w-i-v 


spell 


s-p-e 5 -! 
W-a-s-t 


wave 


waste 


wealth 


w-d-l-M 


clear 


k-l-£-r 


pause 


p-a-z 



12 



INTRODUCTION. 



Table exhibiting the Analysis of Words in which there 
are difficult combinations of Elements. 

friendship f-r-e-n-d-sh-i-p 
attempts a-t-t-e-m-t-s 
exhausts e-g-z-h-a-s-t-s 
thirteenths /A-u-r-t-e-n-/A-s 
projects p-r-6-d-d-zh-<§-k-t-s 
betrothed b-e-t-r-6-M-t 
vanquished v-a-ng-k-w-i-sh-t 
precepts p-r-e-s-e-p-t-s 
softness s-6-f-t-n-e-s 
deepest d-e-p-e-s-t 
greatest g-r-a-t-e-s-t 
perfectly p-e-r-f-e-k-t-l-e 
themselves TK-e-m-s-e-l-v-z 
suspects s-tt-s-p-e-k-t-s 
resolves r-e-z-6-l-v-z 
exists e-g-z-i-s-t-s 
thousands £A-ou-z-a-n-d-z 
thousandth M-ou-z-a-n-d-/A 
mouths m-ou-TH-z 
objects 6-b-d-zh-^-k-t-s 

The article, a, should have the sound of u in up; thus, 

He was ft man ; not he was a man. 

The, when situated before a word beginning with a 
tonic, should be pronounced the ; before a word beginning 
with a subtonic, or atonic, thu ; thus, 

The arts and thu sciences j not the sciences. 



inon nib 


YYl _ lPl . 11 . / Jl - Q 
Jll-Ll"Il"t/t 3 


it Mil lll?5 


l-3-llC-//> -<4 


rhythm 


r-i-M-m 


tw ists 


t-W-f-lS-t-S 


mnnked 

. j 1 1 1 \J l v \j x-k 


s-m-6-k-t 


hvpi\(\ ths 


-&-th'S 


fa clr c 


t-a-s-k-s 


j I J ■ 1 1 L LvJ 


iTi_ri -1 _k-t-s 

111 A XV L 1J 


th wack 


/^-w-a-k 


c] ii'ii cro'Pfl 

OiJx Ut.wtU 


i -p'-fl 

Oil 1 Ll fii U* 




1 u 5 u 


ul u sr 2red 


71-1. If -2f-d 


llV»£l O O'Pfl 


K m t».; 1 „ a*-fl 

U " 1 c I ii U 


begged 


b-e-g-d 


bursts 


b-u-r-s-t-s 


swagged 


s-w-a-g-d 


dredged 


d-r-e-d-zh-d 


swerved 


s-w-e-r-v-d 


acts 


a-k-t-s 


wives 


w-i-v-z 



RHYTHMUS. 



General Definition.— Rhythmtts is an instinctive 
sense and idea of dividing the duration of all sounds and 



INTRODUCTION. 



13 



motions, by an equal periodical pulsation, like the oscil- 
lations, or swings of a pendulum.''^ 

All discourse, prose as well as verse, when correctly 
spoken, falls under rhythmical divisions. These divi- 
sions are called measures, or cadences ; and, as the pulsa- 
tion which points out these measures is marked with ver- 
tical bars, the measures themselves have obtained the 
name of bars. If the word alphabet be repeated several 
times successively, each repetition will be a rhythmical 
measure, and the whole taken together will constitute a 
rhythmical clause— thus: 

j Alphabet, | alphabet, | alphabet. | 

The beginning of each measure is heavy, the ending light, 
and the word poise is used to express both these affections. 
But there are three degrees of poise, w T hich are denoted by 
the following signs : 

Heavy (A), light (.'.)> lighter (. .). 

The word alphabet may serve as an example to illustrate 
the three degrees of poise. 



I Alphabet, I alphabet, 
A . . .\ j A . . .\ 



alphabet, 
A . . .\ 



Thus, the first syllable is heavy; the third, light; the se- 
cond, lighter. 

*' Quantity is a term used to discriminate the relative 
value of sounds in duration of time."f Hence, the quan- 
tity of a syllable is its length, and is measured by the 
time occupied in its pronunciation. 

* Steele's Prosodia Rationalis. t Steele. 

B 



14 



INTRODUCTION. 



The following characters are called notes, and are em- 
ployed for the expression of quantity : 

Quaver - ] equal to 1, shortest quantity. 

Crotchet - Y = % sll0rt quantity. 

Minim - 9 = 4 > lon S quantity. 

Semibreve = 8, longest quantity. 

Hence, 

A semibreve = 2 minims = 4 crotchets = 8 quavers. 
H ?? YYYY lllllll 

The following marks are denominated rests, and de- 
note pauses : 

Quaver rest - h equal to 1. 

Crotchet rest - r» == 2. 

Minim rest - ■■ = 4« 

Semibreve rest B = 8. 

Hence, a | = — — =i~r»i^i~=HHM*1HHMM 

A point or dot following any note or rest, makes such 
note or rest half as long again as it otherwise would be, 
were there no dot annexed to it ; or, in other words, in- 
creases its length in the ratio of 2 to 3. This may be 
seen in the following examples, in which are introduced 
all the different proportions of quantity employed in this 
work. 

Quaver - - - | == 1. Quaver rest - - - h =1. 
Dotted quaver |« = \\. Dotted quaver rest h* = 1J. 
Crotchet - - y «= 2- Crotchet rest - - n» = 2. 
Dotted crotchet y ' = 3. Dotted crotchet rest r» • = 3. 



INTRODUCTION. 



15 



Minim - - - 9 = 4. Minim rest - - - — = 4. 
Dotted minim 9 # = 6. Dotted minim rest — ■ = 6. 
Semibreve - H = 8. Semibreve rest - - | =8. 

Rhythmus is divided into two general modes of time or 
measure, common and triple. In common measure, the 
whole time of the cadence or bar is divisible by the num- 
ber 2 ; and when there are two crotchets in a bar, this 
number is placed at the beginning of the piece; but when 
there are four crotchets in a bar, the letter C is employed. 
In triple measure, the whole time of the cadence, is divisi- 
ble by the number 3. 

I will now give an example of each genus, placing the 
notes of quantity over the syllables, and using rests where 
they are required. 

Example of common time — 2 crotchets in a bar. 





I 1 


Y- 1 


Y* 1 




? 


•2 


The 


shady 


grove or 


winding 


stream. 




A .\ 


A /. 


a :. 


A .\ 


A .*. 



Second example of common time — 4 crotchets in a bar. 



? Y Y 
Oh that the 
A 



? ? 
desert 
A .'. 



■ Y Y 

were my 



? ? 
dwelling 

A .*. 



place. 
A .*. 



Example of triple time — 3 crotchets in a bar. 



Y' I Y 
Alphabet, 
A . . .'. 



Y* I Y 
alphabet, 
A . . .". 



Y- I Y 
alphabet. 
A . . .*. 



Another example of triple time — 3 crotchets in a bar. 
3 



<• Y 


Y 


Y Y* 1 


Y- 1 Y 


? * 


I 


am 


monarch of 


all I sur- 


vey. 


A. . 




A . . .*. 


A. . 


A :. 



1G 



INTRODUCTION-. 



Should it be thought necessary to make a pause after 
grave, in the first example of common time, another mea- 
sure must be introduced, thus : 



The 



shady 
A.*. 



grove 
A .'. 



-'I 

or 

A .'. 



winding 
A .'. 



? 

stream. 
A 



When the sense of the passage requires a pause its 
length is determined by the rbythmus. Hence, if a long- 
er pause be made after grove, than is there expressed, a 
silent bar must be introduced, thus : 



The 



shady 
A .\ 



grove 
A . 



r* i 
A. 



I 

or 



Y'.l 
winding 

A ,\ 



? 

stream. 
A /. 



And if a still longer pause be required, the figure 2 may 
be placed in the silent bar, which would indicate two 
bars rest ; or the figure 3, which would denote three bars 
rest, &c. &c. 

In the above example, I have placed the marks of poise 
not only under the syllables, but also under the rests ; 
because " the affections of heavy and light, are constantly 
alternate and periodical as the swings of a pendulum, and 
must be continued by conception in the mind during all 
measured rests or pauses, as well as during the continu- 
ance of sound."* 



* Steele. 



INTRODUCTIOX. 



17 



The figure 3 placed over three crotchets, or their equi- 
valent, signifies that they are to be read in the time of 
two, as in the following examples of common time : 

3 

Y Y Y V I Y' I Y\ > 
2 Willing for once Pll quit my prey. 
A . . /. A A /. A .' 





[ r- | 


Y Y 


Y H 1 


Y'l Y 


Y ' M 


2 


Yet 


calling 


up a 


serious 


look. 




A .'*. 


A .". 


A 


A. . .". 


a :\ 



"When the sense requires the movement to be quicken- 
ed, or made slower, it is denoted by the following words: 

Very fast. 
Fast. 

Rather fast. 
Moderate. 
Rather slow. 
Slow. 

Very slow. 

I apply the term moderate, to discourse that requires a 
medium rate of utterance, as simple narrative. Rather 
fast is a degree faster than moderate ; rather slow, a 
degree slower, &c. Other terms are employed to denote 
the manner of reading \ but their application will be un- 
derstood by examining the exercises. 

" It will perhaps be asked here — what is the meaning 
of these divisions ? And what useful purpose do they serve 
in instruction? 

" All the works on elocution before the time of Mr. 

* Steele. 

B2 



18 



INTRODUCTION. 



Steele, recommend the accurate accentuation of words, 
and a strict attention to their separation at the proper 
places for pausing. Mr. Sheridan, indeed, has given a 
notation for rhetorical pause and emphasis* But he has 
proposed no scheme to draw the attention of the pupil to 
the subject of accent. That this subject is of the utmost 
importance in the schools of elocution, will be admitted 
by those who have observed the manner in which children 
learn to read : for the close attention which their ig- 
norance requires, and the slowness of utterance, lead them 
to lay an equal stress on every syllable, or at least upon 
every word. 

"This habit continues a long time after the eye has 
acquired a facility in following up discourse ; and, in 
some cases, this vice infects pronunciation throughout 
subsequent life. The notation of Mr. Steele, which has 
a symbol for each degree of stress, would certainly ob- 
viate this tendency of accentuation, by marking both the 
heavy and the light syllables, and thus affording a guide 
to the pupil in the absence of the master. I do not say 
that these objects would not be attained, in a degree, by 
employing the common mark of stress on all the accented 
syllables of discourse. But even this is never done, and 
if it were, it would not be as definite as the conspicuous 
division by bars ; nor would it include the indication of 
pause, together with other points enumerated in this 
system, 

" One of the objects of a scientific institute is to point 
out what is necessary in the art, even if it is not able to 
tell the exact mode of executing it: and I will venture to 



INTRODUCTION. 



19 



assert that no person who has heard of Mr. Steele's sys- 
tem of notation, will hesitate to acknowledge that it has 
set the phenomena of accentuation and pause before his 
attention, in a manner which had never occurred to him 
before ; but which, when known, seems to spring imme- 
diately out of what he did know before. 

"This notation will not indeed inform us what sylla- 
bles are to be accented or emphatic, nor where the pauses 
are to be placed : but it will enable a master, who knows 
how to order all these things in speech, to furnish that 
which most men require for every thing they do — a copy. 
If a boy is taught by a well appointed scoring in this 
method, he acquires the habit of attention to the subject 
of accentuation and pause, which maybe readily applied 
by him in ordinary discourse."^ 

FAULTS OF READERS, 

Some of the most prominent faults of readers are the 
following : 

1. Imperfect articulation, or the entire omission of 
one or more elements of a word. 

Examples. — His is incorrectly pronounced is; her, er; 
and, an; orb, awb ; purse, pus ; months, munse; must, 
mus ; friendship, frienship ; &c. 

2. The introduction of a supernumerary element into 
a word. 

Examples. — Even is incorrectly pronounced e-ven; 
heaven, heav-en ; myrtle, myrtel ; little, littel; &c. 

* Philosophy of the Human voice, by James Rush, M. D. 



20 



INTRODUCTION. 



3. The exchanging of one element for another. 

Examples To is incorrectly pronounced tur ; of uv; 

f rom, frum ; morning, mornin ; judgment, judgmunt ; 
command, cummand ; believe, burlieve ; vision, wision, 
virtue, lourtue, fyc. 

4. Incorrect Intonation. — The faults of intonation are 
so many, that my limits will not allow me even to enu- 
merate them. Those who wish information on this sub- 
ject, I refer to Dr. Rush's Philosophy of the Human 
Voice, a work which should be profoundly studied by all 
who are ambitious of accomplishment in the Art of 
Reading and Speaking. 



THE 



RHYTHMICAL READER. 



THE THREE WARNINGS, 
MRS. THE, AXE. 



Moderate. 



Y- I I Y Y 
The | tree of | deepest 



Y* 1 I ? 
root is found 



Y Y I V" I 
willing I still to 



Y Y 
therefore 



Y' I 
said by 



Y' I I ? 
quit the | ground: 

Y Y 



Y Y 
ancient 



That 



? 
Least 



'Twas 

Y- I 
love of 



V I 
life in- 



Y* I 

creas'd with 



Y* I I Y* H | !•* I 

years So much, 



Y Y Y Y 



1 Y Y 1 


" Y 1 


1 stages, 1 


When 1 



Y' I 



Y Y 



Y Y 



sharp, and | sickness | rages, 



that 
I 

pains grow 



' I Y Y 
The I greatest 



Y* I 
love of 



Y Y 
fection 



fess, 



Y* 1 



life ap- I pears. 

H I I Y- 
to be- J lieve, 



1 Y* 


i 


? | 


1 few 


per- 


ceive, | 



. I Y' I 
This I great af- 

Which all con- 



•I I Y- [ 
If old as- 



22 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Y Y 1 Y* I 
sertions | can't pre- 


? 1 

vail, 1 


r- 1 

Be 


Y' 1 1 
pleas'd to [ 


Y* 1 1 Y Y 
hear a | modern 


? 

tale. 






1 

When 


Y * 1 I 
sports went | 


Y' 1 
round, and 


Y- 1 
all were 




H 


1 

On 


I Y Y 1 
1 neighbour | 



Y Y 



Y Y 



Dodson's I wedding day, 



Y i 



? I Y' I 
Death call'd a- 



Y* 



Y Y 



side the | jocund 



? 

groom 



With 



? I Y I I 
him into an- 



Y Y 



? 



oth er room ; 



And 



I 



Y «• 



Y Y 
looking 

3 

Y Y 



? 

grave — 
Y 



Rather slotc. 

- I 

"You 



Y" 



must," says | he, | "Quit your sweet | bride, and 



Y' 



Y 



Rather fast, with the expression of surprise. 



come with me." r* 



"With I you! 



and 



Y" 



Y Y 



Y # 



quit my | Susan's | side! 

Moderate. 

m ■ | 

the 



Y Y 
hapless 



Y Y 


Y* H 




husband 


cried ; 





• ! Y" 1 
With I you!" 



Rather slow, 

Y* I 
"Young as 



Y Y 
I am, 





Y Y 


Y" h 


-'I 


'tis 


monstrous 


hard! 


Be- 



Y* I 
side, in 



Y- | 


Y* 1 


Y* h 


r* • | 


truth, I'm 


not pre- 


par'd: 


My 



Y- 



THE RHYTHMIC AX HEADER. 



23 



1 1 1 1 


Y n 




Y 1 1 1 


other matters 


go; 




This is my | 



Moderate. 



1 Y H | 


Y «• 




t» Y 


1 day you 


know." 




What 



Y Y 



Y* I 
more he 



Y* I 
urged, I 

Y Y 



Y Y 
have not 



Y* 



Y • H 1 I*' 

heard, 



Y 



could not I well be I stronger; 



His 

I 

So 



Y Y 
reasons 

V I 
Death the 



Y* 



Y Y 



Y* 



poor de- linquent I spar'd. 



, Y' I 
And left to 



Y Y 
little 



Y-l 
longer. 



Yet 



Y Y 
calling 



Y I 
up a 



3 

Y-l Y 
serious 



Y' I 
live a 



Y * H j 
look, 



I Y Y 
His ! hour-glass 

Rather slow. 

Y Y 
"Neighbour,' 



Y Y I Y " I 
trembled | while he 



Y- ' 

spoke — > 



1 


Y' i 




w, y 


he 


said, 




u fare 



Y* H 

well. 



" Y 
No 



Y' I 



Y- 



I 



more shall ' Death dis- 



Y* I 
turb your 



Y- I 
mirthful 



Y- I 
blame Of 



Y' h 

hour; 

Yl I 
cruelty 



i 

And 



Y" 1 


i 


farther, 


to a- 





? 


i 


upon my 


name, 


To 



? 

time 



for prepar- 



1 1 - 


i 


Y Y 


ation, 


And 


fit you 



Y Y 
future 



Y Y 




? 


1 lY 


station, 




Three 


several 



Y Y I 
void all 



Y- I 
give you 



Y Y ! 
Warnings | 



24 



THE RHYTHMIC Alj READER. 



you shall 





1 


Y ' 1 1 


have, 


Be- 


fore you're! 



Y 



to the I grave. 



Y Y Y 
Willing for 



Y " I 
once I'll 



; y * * 


- 1 


Y* 1 


Y* 1 


? 




1 prey, 


And 


grant a 


kind re- 


prieve; 





Y* I 
quit my 



In 



Y' I ! Y Y 
hopes you'll | have no 



Y ' I 
when I 



Y" I 
call a- 



Y' I 
gain this 



Y" I 

world will 



Y* I 

more to 

Y * H 

way, 

Moderate. 



Y* H 

say; 



? 



But 



Y' 



? 






V 1 


leave." 




To 


these con- 



Well 1 pleas'd the 



I Y' 
ditions 



I Y" I 
! both con- 



Y I -i 

sented, 



And 



Y 1 *i 




p- y 


Y' 1 


tented. 




What 


next the 



Y I H f; | | | 

parted perfectly con- 



1 1 i i 

hero of our 



Y" I 
tale be- 

r- Y 

how 

? 

course, 

? 

horse, 



Y " *t 

fell, 

? 
well, 



Y 
How 



i- Y 
How 



Y* I 

long he 



? 

liv'd, 



i- Y 

how 



? 
wise, 



Y* I 
roundly he pur- 



Y* I 
su'd his 



And 



Y* I 
smok'd his 



Y- I 
pipe, and 



V i 
strok'd his 



The 



• I I Y Y 
He chaffer'd 



Y Y 
willing 

Y- *i 

then, 



Y' I 



Y *m 



muse shall tell: 



he 



? 

bought, 



he 



? 
sold 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



25 



Nor 



V I 
once per- 



ceiv'd his 



Y Y 
growing 



Y- I 
thought of 



Y* I 
Death as 



near: I His 



? 

old, 

? 

friends 



Nor 
not 





f i 


? 


false, 


his 


wife 



? 


iH 


Y Y 


Y- h 




gains, 


his 


children 


few, 


He 



Y* I 
hours in 

Y* I 
wealth in- 



peace. 



Y • H 1 


!• Y 


crease, 


While 



3 

HY'I' V h Y Y Y 
no I shrew ; Many his 



Y* I 
pass'd his 



Y- I I V I 
But while he viewM his 



Y" 



thus a- i long Life's 



Y* I 
dusty 



Y' I 
road The 



? 

Old 



? 

Time, 



Y Y Y* I 
heaten track con- 



' Y Y Y 
whose haste no 



Y- I 
tent he 



Y Y 
mortal 



Y- h 
trod, 

? 

spares, 



1- 1 


? i «-• 1 


V 1 


«• 1 1 


? 


1 Un- 


call'd, 1 un- 


heeded, 


una- 


wares, 



N y 


|Y- 1 


Y' 1 Y 


Y* H 


Brought 


} on his 


eightieth 


year. 



f V I 
[now, one 



Y # I Y Y I ? J f I 
night, in musing I mood | As 



And 

y-I ! 

all a- 



I V I 
lone he 



Y* h 

sat, 



• I I Y Y 
The un- welcome 



Y' T 1 I P" Y 



Fate 



Once 



Y' h 
more be- 

C 



Y" I 
fore him 



messenger of { 
stood. Half! 



26 



THE RHYTHMIC All HEADER* 



kill'd with 



I I I I 
anger and sur- 



? 




prise, 





and surprise. 



Moderate. 



Y ' I 
I soon re- 



? 

turn'd!" 



• Y 
Old 



! Y * I 
soon, d'ye 

Y I I 
Surely, my 

Y I I 
Since I was 



Y I H 
call it?" 



Y Y 
Dodson 



Y' I 
Death re- 



? 




cries. 





Y* h Y II 
friend, you're but in 



plies: | 

Y h 

jest! 



energy 

Y 

" So 



i- Y 

"So 



Y* 1 


Y ' H 


t- i I 


here be- 


fore 


>Tis | 



Y Y 



Y' I 
thirty 



V 1 


Y ' h 


Y Y 


Y Y 


years at 


least, 


And you 


now are 



Y Y 
fourscore." 



1 


Y* 1 


? 


So 


much the 


worse," 



the 



Y« I 
clown re- 



? 

I join'd, 



' I 
To 



How- 



Y" I 



Y Y 



spare the , aged | would be 



? 
kind: 



ever, 



Y Y 
see your 



Y- I I Y Y 
search be | legal ; 



Y I I 
And your au- 



Y II 
thority — 



Else you are 



Y I I 
come on a 



? 

fool's 



Y Y 

secretary's | warrant. 



i 

I i i i i 

| promis'd me Three 



I 

is't 

Y Y 
errand, 



Be- 



Y Y 
regal? 



2 



y y 

Warnings, 



Y I I 
With but a 



Y' I 
side, you 



Which I have 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



27 



Y* I 
look'u for 



Y' 



Y Y 



nights and I mornings! 



1 Y Y 


V 1 


V 1 


? 




1 for that 


loss of 


time and 


ease, 


i 



I I I H 

damages." 

? I 
Death, | 



2 



" I I Y* ' 
"I | know," 



But 



can recover 

<• Y 

cries 



Y I I 
"that, at the 



? 

best, 



Y Y I Y 
am a | welcome | guest; 



Y Y 



Y* 



I 

But 
p» r» I 



captious, I friend, at | least: 



I Y Y 
| seldom 

Y* I 
don't be 

i i i 

I little 



Y* 



I 



Y* I I Y I I 



Y- 



thought you'd | still be | able To | stump a- 



Y* I 
bout your 



Y' I 
farm and 



Y I ■ 
stable; 



Your 



Y I I I ? 
run to a | great | length; 



Y* I 
joy, though, 



says the 



• I I 

of your 

Y I h 
farmer, 



? 

strength I" 

Y' I 
not so 



years have 

Y- I 
wish you 



? 

"Hold," 



fast! 



Y Y Y 
I have been 



Y* 1 


Y Y 


? 


lame these 


four years 


past." 



Y Y 
no great 



Y I • 
wonder," 



Y' I 
Death re- 



plies: 



And 



"How- 



28 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Y I • 

ever, 

r i 



N I Y 

you still 



Y Y : 


? 


keep your 


eyes; 



Y Y 



I Y* 1 1 


? 


1 loves and 


friends, 



And 

I 

For 



Y' I 
legs and 

I 



? 1 


H| III 


arms 


would make a- | 



Y I 



"Per- | haps," says | Dodson 



I Y Y { 
I Dodson, | 



" so it i 



? 

might, 



III I I Y' I 
latterly I've | lost my | sight. 



I But 

Rather slow. 

mtm \ Y II, 

I "This is a | shocking | tale, 'tis | true, 

Moderate. 



Y Y I Y* A 



Y* 



' I I Y* I 
But still there's 



Y Y I Y* I I I 
comfort | left for | you 



«• Y 



Y Y 



I I 



I I I I I I I • I I I I 

Each I strives your | sadness | to a- | muse, 



Y Y 
warrant 



you hear 



Y " I 
all the 



news.' 



"There's 



Y 1 


Y <- 


none," cries 


he ; 



Hill 

and if there 



were, 



Y- I I Y* I 



Y 



Pm I grown so | deaf, I | could not 



Y ' H I n»p- 

hear." 



With energy. 


Y 


Y * M 


"Nay, 


then," 



I I Y h 



the | spectre 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



29 



1 ? 




I join'd, 





Y I I I I I 
" These are un- | justifiab 



lei 



Y Y 
yearnings; 



Y Y Y I Y* I I Y* I 
If you are I Lame, and I Deaf, and 



? 

Blind, 



Y 



Y Y 



Y Y I Y Y 



You've | had your | Three suf- | ficient 



Y Y 
Warnings. 



Y* I 
more we'll 



with his 



H||l 

So come a- 



Y* h 
long, 



• Y 

no 



? 

part;" 

? 
dart. 



Moderate. 



I 

He 



? 
said, 



and 



touch'd him 



And 



Y * h 

now, 



|- Y 
old 



1 Y Y 


Y Y 


? 




1 Dodson 


turning 


pale, 





Y I I 
yields to his 



Y # H 

fate — 



" Y 


Y* II? 


4 


So 


ends my 1 tale. 





VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER 
SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE ON THE ISL- 
AND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. 



COWPER. 



Rather sloio. 



" Y Y 


Y Y* 1 


Y'l Y 


? «• 


- Y 


I am 


monarch of 


all I sur- 


vey, 


My 



? I I 

right there is 



Y- I I 
none to dis- 



? ■ 

pute; 



Y Y 
From the 



These five quavers must be read in the time of four. 

C2 



30 



THE RHYTHMICAI READER. 



Y Y 
centre 



Y* I Y 
fowl and the 



Y* I Y 
where are the 



Y* I Y 
seen in thy 

? I I 
midst of a- 

? 

place. I 

i^Y Y 

I must 



?• 


? 1 1 


? * 


r* Y Y 


all 


round to the 


sea, 


1 am 



V I Y 
lord of the 



Slow. 



? 


2 


?• 


Yl Y-,1 


brute. 




Oh 


solitude ! | 



?• 

charms, 



Y 



Y Y 



That 1 sages have 

Rather sloiv. 



? - 




face? 





?• 


- Y 


larms, 


Than 



Y" Y * 

Better 

? Y 
reign in 



Y" I Y 
dwell in the 

? I Y Y Y 
this I horrible 



«• Y Y I Y* I Y 
lam out of hu- 



Y Y Y 
inanity's 



Y Y Y 
finish my 



Y" I Y 
journey a- 



? ! 
lone; 



Y # Y'| Y* I Y Y'l Y 



Never hear the sweet 



music of I speech, 



? * 

reach; 



Y 
I 



? I I 
start at the 



Y' I Y 
sound of my 



? - 

own. 



■ Y 

The 



? Y 
beasts that 



Y" I I I 
roam over the 



? - 

plain, 



• Y 
My 



Y* I Y 
form with in- 



Y Y Y 
difference 



? y Y |Y" I Y 



see: | They are | so unac 



Y Y Y 
quainted with 



? 
man, 



- Y 

Their 



l-Y 


Yll -1 


1 So- 


ciety, | 



Y Y Y Y Y Y 
tameness is j shocking to 



Y Y Y I ? H 
friendship, and! love, 



me. 



' Y 
Di- 



THE RHYTHMIC Al READER. 



31 



y I y 

vinely be- stow'd upon | man, 



Y* I Y 
wings of a 



? 
dove, 



Y 
How 



?* I Y Y Y I 
Oh I had I the | 



Y* I Y 
soon would I 



Y* I Y 
taste you a- 



gain ! 



- Y 

My 



Y Y Y Y Y Y 
sorrows 1 1 then might as- 



? r 

suage 

- Y 

Might 

* Y Y 
And be 



' Y Y j Y # I Y 
In the I ways of re- 



Y' I Y 
learn from the 



Y Y Y 
ligion and 

Y Y Y 
wisdom of 



? 

truth: 



V I Y |Y Y Y 
cheer'd by the | sallies of 



? « 

youth. 



age, 

' Y 
Re- 



Y Y i- 
ligion ! 

Y* I Y 
sides in that 



Y Y Y 
precious than 



Y 



Y Y Y 



what treasure un- 



told, 



Y YY 
heaven ly 

Y Y Y 
silver or 



? 

word ! 

?• 

gold, 



- Y 

Re- 

- ? 
More 



' Y 
Or 



Y* I Y ? 
earth can af- ford. 



<* Y Y 
But the 



Y* 



Y 



church-going I bell, 



Y 

These 



? t 1 1 
rocks never 

Y # 1 Y 
sound of a 



Y" r- 

heard ; 

? 

knell ? 



Y 
Ne'er 



Y* I Y 
all that this 



Y' I Y 
sound of the 



Y Y Y 
vallies and 



Y # I Y 
sighed at the 





- Y 




Or 



Y* I Y 
smil'd when a 



32 



THE KHTTHMICAI READER. 



9 v 




- Y 


pear'd. 




Ye 



Y* I Y 
winds that have 



Y* I Y 



made me your sport, 



? - 



■ Y 

Con- 



Y- I I 
vey to this 



Y Y Y 
desolate 



? - 


- Y 


Y 1 1 Y 


Y 1 Y 


? - 


shore, 


Some 


cordial en- 


dearing re- 


port 



Y Y 
Of a 



Y* I Y 
land I shall 



YY Y 
visit no 



Y 
more. 



■ Y ?' 

My friends, 



i-Y Y 
do they 



Y Y Y 
now and then 



Y - 

wish 



1 I 1 


Y* I' I* 




■a p* 


or a 


thought after 


me ? 





? H| 
send A 



?• 





Y* 1 


Y 


Y* Y 1 


? - 


tell me 


I 


yet have a 


friend, 



i- Y Y 
Though a 



Y' I Y 
friend I am 



Y Y Y 


Y * Hp- 


ma 


never to 


see, 





Y 
How 



? .1 I 
fleet i3 a 



Y" I Y 
glance of the 



? 

mind ! 



Y I Y 
par'd with the 



Y* I Y 
speed of its 



? * 
Bight, 



■ Y 

The 



Y 
Com- 



Y Y Yj 
tempest it- 1 



? - 
self 



? Y 
lags be- 



? 

hind, 



i- Y Y 
And the 



Y 



Y* 



Y Y Y 
arrows of 

Y Y Y 
own native 



? 
light. 

? 
land, 



" Y Y 
When I 



swift wing'd 



Y' I Y 
think of my 



, y Y 
In a 



Y Y Y 
moment I 



Y* I Y 
seem to be 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



33 



? - 


f Y Y 


? - 


w Y Y 


Y Y Y 


there; 


But, a- 


las! 


recol- 


lection at 



? w 

hand, 



Y 
Soon 



Y Y Y j Y- I Y 
hurries me I back to de- 



? - 

spair. 



I* Y Y 
But the 



Y Y Y 
sea-fowl is 



Y- I Y | ? i- 
gone to her i nest, 



Y? I Y I Y* I Y 
beast is laid down in his 



? 

lair 5 



- Y 

The 

? Y 
Even 



Y* 1 Y 


Y 1 Y 


? - 


- Y 


Y" 1 Y 


here is a 


season of 


rest, 


And 


I to my 



Y Y Y 


? - 




- Y 


Y* 1 Y 


cabin re- 


pair. 




There's 


mercy in 



? - 

place ; 



■ Y 
And 



? Y 
mercy- 



• Y 
en- 



Y Y Y 
couraging 



Y Y Y 
ev er y 



? 

thought! 



Gives 



Y 1 Y 
even af- 



Y Y Y 
fliction a 



grace, 



Y 
And 



Y Y Y 


? -* 


p-Y Y 




3 


reconciles 


man 


to his 


lot 





THE HERMIT. 
BEATTIE. 



Rather slow. 

" Y Y 
At the 



Y' I Y 
close of the 



Y Y Y 
hamlet is 



still, 



? - 


1 <* Y Y 1 


day, 


when the | 


A 1 


Y Y Y 1 


And ! 


mortals the | 



34 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Y * I Y Y Y Y ? i- I 
sweets of for- getfulness prove 5 | 

? I I I Y Y Y Y ' I Y 
nought but the | torrent is heard on the 



- Y 

And 

?' 
grove : 



Y Y Y 
mountain a- 



? I I Y Y Y 
nought but the nightingale's 



song 



- Y 

When 

? - 
hill, 

i" Y Y 
in the 



Y Y I Y* 1 Y I Y* I Y 
It was I thus by the | cave of the 



?' t» i f Y 



far, 



Y 



? Y 



| Y Y Y 


- Y 


| phonious, 


a 



While his 



Y Y Y 
hermit be- 



?• 

harp 

? - 

gan; 



i» • y* 

No 



Y- I Y 
more with him- 



? - 


r-y Y 


self 


or with 



Y Y Y 
nature at 



? - 


- Y 


? 1 1 


? H 


war, 


He 


thought as a 


sage, 1 



• Y Y 
though he 



? I I 
felt as a 



Y Y Y 
bandon'd to 

? 1 1 

lone Philo- 



? r 


2 


man. 





Y Y Y 
darkness and 



Slow. 

- ? 

Ah! 



? 

wo: 



? t 

why, 



? Y 
all a- 



YY H 


- Y 


mela, 1 


that 



Y Y Y 
languishing 



- Y 

For 

? - 

stow, 



Y # I Y 
spring shall re- 



? r 

turn, 



Y Y 
and a 



? - 

Why, 

? - 
fall? 



Y Y Y 
lover be- 



Y 
And 



Y Y Y 
sorrow no 



Y* I Y 
longer thy 



Y Y Y 
bosom en- 



THK RHTt" THM I C AL READER. 



35 



? 

thrai. 



<• Y Y Y Y Y 



Y 



But, if | pity in- | spire thee, 



Y* I Y, 

new the sad 



Y Y 
plainer, 



? 

lay j 



Y Y 



Y 
re- 

Y 



Mourn, sweetest com- 



Y' I Y 
man calls thee to 



mourn; 



?• 





?• 

sooth 



?• 

him 



1 Y 
whose 



V Y 
pleasures, 



? Y 
pass a- 



? - I 

thine, 

Y Y Y V r 

quickly they I pass — 



? - 

way : 



I but 

Rather slow. 



- Y 

like 

?' 
Full 

■ Y 

they 



Y Y Y 


? «* 1 


3 1 ? r 


never re- 


turn. 


— c 1 Now 



?• 

mote, 



Y Y I Y # I Y 
on the I verge of the sky, 



? - 


- Y 


sky, 


The 



f Y Y 
half ex- 



Y* Y* 
tinguish'd. 



■ Y 

her 



YM Y 



But I lately I | mark'd, 



Y Y Y 
crescent dis- 



i- y Y 
when ma- 



Y Y Y 
gliding re- 



moon 



? - 

plays; 

Y Y Y 
jestic on 



high 



- Y 

She 



shone, 



«• Y Y 
and the 

With energy, 



Y Y Y 
planets were 



-«•!?• |?-| - Y I ? 



Roll I on, 



Y Y Y 



Y ' I Y , 
lost in her | blaze. 

?' I " Y 

orb, 1 and with I gladness pur- | sue 



thou I fair | 



1 9 "I 




1 sue | 


The| 



36 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| Y' I Y I V I Y I V , 1 Y 
j path that con- | ducts thee to | splendour a- 



Slow. 

- Y I ?• I ? Y 

But | man's | faded glory 



• Y Y 
shall re- 



?Y 


— 1 ?• 


glory 


1 what 



? I- 

gain: 

?• 

change 



? m 




it. 


?• 


Y Y 


new ! 




Ah 


fool! 


to ex- 



? 1 1 

ult in a 



• Y Y 

and the 









Rather slow. 


Y Y 


Y 


?' 




- Y 


glory 


so 


vain ! 




>Tis 



Y* I Y 



landscape is lovely no 



Y Y Y 



? <- 

more: 



?• 

night, 

■ Y 
I 



mourn; 

? * 

you; 



<~ Y Y 
hut, ye 

- Y 

For 



y. y. 

woodlands, 

Y* I Y 
morn is ap- 



Y 
I 



Y* ! Y 
mourn not for 



y. y. 

proaching, 



■ Y 

your 



Y* I Y 
charms to re- 



? * 


- Y 


store, 


Per- 



y. ., y 

fum'd with fresh 



y. y. 

fragrance, 

V* I Y 
yet for the 



? 



' Y 

and 



Y Y Y 
glitt'ring with 



? - 
dew. 



■ Y 
Nor 



Y Y Y 


Y Y Y 


?' 




ravage of 


winter I 


mournj 





1 Y Y Y 


VI Y 


1 nature the 


embryo 



Y Y Y 



blossom will I save: 



? - 



Slow. 

- Y 

But 



V Y 
when shall 



? H Y Y Y 
spring I visit the 



Y" I Y 
mouldering 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



37 



urn: 



Very slow. 



? 
o 



? Y 
when shall 



?•!-?• I 

day I dawn | 

Rather slow, 



Y Y 
on the 



?• 


•* Y Y ! 


?• 


- 3 ~ i 


night 


of the 


grave ! 





Y* I Y | Y* I Y 
thus by the j glare of false 



Y Y Y 
science be- 



- Y 

That 

? - 
blind ; 



Y* I Y 
leads to be- 



Y Y Y 
wilder, and 



- Y 

'Twas 

? <- 

tray'd, 

Y Y Y 
dazzles to 



Y 

My 



Y* Y I 
thoughts wont to 



roam, 



^ Y 
from 



?• 


V Y 1 


?• 




Y Y Y 


shade 


onward to 


shade, 


| De- 


struction be- 



Very slow. 



? Y 


- Y 1 


Y Y Y 


? - 1 




fore me, 


and 


sorrow be- 


hind. 


-To' 



Y Y 
pity, 



great 



Y' I Y 
Father of 



light, 



!• Y Y 
then I 



? - 

cried, 



■ Y 
Thy 



Y Y Y I Y* I Y I Y* I Y 
creature who I fain would not wander from 



? r> -i- j ? 

thee! j Lo, 

Y Y Y ? r 
linquish my pride: 



? Y 
darkness 



Rather fast, &nd with spirit. 

_Y Y 



Y Y Y| ? «- 1 i- Y Y 
humbled in | dust, | I re- 



™ Y T 

From doubt 



«• Y Y 

and from 





?• 


I ?Y| 


- ? 1 


? H 


1 "™ 


thou 


I only 1 


canst 


free. | 



Y # I Y I Y Y Y 
And | darkness and ) doubt are now 1 flying a* 
D 



38 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



No 



? > 
way; 

? r r ? 

lorn: So 

? - I • 

stray, 

y I y 

fulgence of 



Y'l y 
longer I 



Y* I Y 
roam in con- 



? I I | Y I I ' 
breaks on theltraveller, 



■ Y 

The 



?• 


- Y 


morn. 


See 



Y Y Y 



Y Y Y 



Mercy in triumph de 
Y Y Y 



Y* I I 
bright and the 



Truth, 



Y* Y* 



scending, 



Y Yl Y 
jecture for- 

? I I 
faint and a- 

Y " I Y 
balmy ef- 

? Y 
Love, and 

1 Y I Y # Y* 
And nature 



?■ 

all 



glowing in 



Y* Y I 
cold cheek of 



Y Y 
blending, 



? Y 
Eden's 

? - 
death 



first 



?• 

bloom ! 



•* Y Y 
On the 



? Y 
smiles and 



Y Y Y 
roses are 



- Y 



Y Y Y 



And I beauty im- 



? Y 
mortal 



Y 
a- 



Y- I Y I ?• I 3 
wakes from the tomb. — p» 



PROCRASTINATION. 



YOUNG. 



Rather sloio. 

I - Y I ? Y 

I Be wise to- 



? 

fcr, 



day; 



'tis 



Next 



? Y 
day the 



? Y 
madness 



r* Y Y 
to de- 



Y-Y-l My y I 

fatal I precedent will | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



39 







I ? - 


" Y 1 


? Y I 


J plead; j 


1 Thus, 


on, 


till 


wisdom I 



Y 
is 



Y* Y 



push'd out of | life. 



? * 



i-Y y 

is the 

y h Y 

year it 



? Y 
thief of 



- Y 


1 ? Y 


l Y Y " 1 


Pro- 


j crasti- 


| nation | 


?• 1 




Y * Y 1 1 


time. I 




Year after | 



?• 

steals, 



' Y 
till 



? Y | ? 



Y' I Y 



all are j fled; | And to the 



Y Y I I I Y Y 
mercies of a moment 



? Y 
leaves The 



?• 

cerns 



n I t Y 
of an e- 



? Y 
ternal | scene. 



? Y 
vast con- 



Y 
If 



Y'Y'I Y Y 



not so j frequent, 



Y* Y* 
would not 



mm p» 


- Y 


? Y 


Y Y in- 




That 


'tis so 


frequent, 



? Y , 
this be j strange ? 

? Y| ? Y 
this is | stranger 



? - 

still. 

? - 

takes, 



■ Y 
Of 



? Y 
man's mi- 



? ^ 

this 



? Y 
bears The 



palm, 



raculous mis- 
Y 



Y 1 


" YY 


? 




? -1 


- Y 


men | 


are a- 


bout 


i\ 


live:" 


For- 



■-Y Y 


? Y 


y; y - 


i ?• 




on the 


brink of 


being 


| born. 





? Y 
pay them- 



? Y 
selves the 



Y I Y* 
compliment 



'That 

? Y 
ever 

?-i 

All 



Yl ? Y 
to | think, They, 



40 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



: y ' y* 

j one day, 



- Y 

On 

?' 
praise; 



Y * V 
shall not 



Y Y I- I t* Y Y j ? # 
drivel, | and their | pride 



Y Y i- 

ready 



1 ? Y 


1 Y Y r* | 


? 


Y 


1 this re- 


1 version 


takes 


up 



■ Y I ? Y I ?* 

At I least, their | own, 



■ Y Y* Y" 

their future 



? Y I ?• 
selves ap- | plauds. 



- ? 

How 



Y* Y' 
that life, 



■ Y 

they 



? Y 
ne'er will 



? 

lead! 



Y Y Y 
excellent 



Time, 



Y* 



1 Y # Y' 1 




1 own hands, | 


is [ 



Y ' Y " 

folly's 



vails; 



?• 

That 



? Y 
lodged in 



? 

fate's, 



Y 
to 



r y y 


1 ? e 




Y 


? Y 


they con- 


1 sign; 


The 


thing they 


Y Y «• 


H y Y" 


? 




purpose, 


they post- 


pone. 1 



Y Y r 


? 


Y 


? Y 


? r 


- Y 


folly, 


not 


to 


scorn a 


fool; 


And 



Y Y i- 
wisdom 

? Y 
can't hut 



Y Y Y 
'Tis not in 



? Y 
scarce in 



y.y. I V Y; I - Y J ?> 

human | wisdom j to [ do 



Y Y Y I 
promise is | 

? Y 
that through 



? 



Y Y Y 
every 



•I'M- 



stage. 



? - 




2 


?• 


more. 




All 


1 ? - 






Y 


j man; 




And 



Y 

When 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



41 



? 


Y 


? Y 


? 


Y 


? Y 




Y* Y* 


young, 


in- 


deed, In 


full Can- 


tent, we 


sometimes 


? Y 


? 




- Y 


Y ' Y ' 


i-Y Y 




? - 


nobly 


rest 


9 


Un- 


anxious 


for our 




selves; 


- Y 


? 


Y 


? 




- Y 


1 Y Y Y 


1 ? " 


and 


on 




wish, 




As j duteous 


1 sons, 



■ Y 

our 



Y* Y* 

fathers 



i Y Y- 



? 



were more I wise. 



YY ^ 
thirty, 



? Y 
man sus- 



? Y 
pects him- 



? Y 
self a 



-r. j ? I| 


Y Y r- 


Y Y 1 


| knows it at 


forty, 


and re- | 



, - y 

I At 

? - 
fool; 

? Y 



? - 




Y Y <• 


1 ? Y [ 


plan; 


At 


fifty, 


1 chides his | 



? * 

lay; 



Y Y 
Pushes his 



y. y 

prudent 



y. y. 

purpose 



?• 


- Y 


? Y 


? Y 


solve, 


In 


all the 


magna- 



nimity of 



- Y 

Re- 

? Y 
dies the 



solves, 



' Y 
and 



? Y I ?* 
rere- | solves; 



t~Y Y 
to re- 

?• 

thought, 

? * 

then 



? Y 
cause he 

? Y 
All men 



?• 

same. 



? Y 
thinks him- 



Y 
And 



? - I 

why? J 

? Y I Y Y r 
self im- mortal. 



■ Y 

Be- 



- Y 


? Y 


Y Y im- 


think 


all men 


mortal, 




D 2 





C Y Y 
but them- 



42 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



selves; 



■ Y 

Them- 



selves, 



shock of I fate | strikes through their | wounded 



Y* Y I 
when some a- 



Y 



? .Y 
larmiiig 

? Y 



? Y I Y * Y 



? 



hearts the | sudden | dread; 



? Y 
hearts wounded, 



i- Y Y 
like the 



' Y Y 
Eut their 



? Y I ? - 
wounded | air, 



?• 

Soon 



o 
t 



close; 



• ? I ? Y 
where | past the 



? 

shatt, 



?'| ? Y 



1 ? - 




1 found. 





Y" I Y 
As from the 



? - 
w ing 



1 9-1 


? Y 


| ? Y 


1 ? 




- Y 




? Y 


1 no 


scar the 


1 sky re- 


| tains; 






The 


parted 


i ? 


!• 1 i- 9 


1 Y * Y * 1 


Y 


Y 


? 




p* 


1 wave 1 no 


1 furrow 1 


from the 


keel, 






1 ? ' 


? Y 1 


Y # Y' 1 


? - 




Y 1 


? 


Y 


1 So 


dies in j 


human | hearts 




the j thought of 



? - 

death. 



? Y I Y Y I ? Y ? ^ 
Even with the tender tear 



1 Y 
which 



Nature 



Y Y 
we | drop it 



?• 

sheds 



Very slow. 



Y 



9 Y 



? er those we 



? . 

love, 



in their | grave. ! — r~ 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



43 



SLAVERY. 



COWPER. 



Slow. 












? 1 I 1 


?' 1 


- Y 


?• 


?'•! 


Y Y Y 


Oh for a 1 


loilge 1 


in 


some 


vast 


wilderness, 



r ? I ? Y 
Some i boundless 



Where 



? * 

ceit, 

? - 

war, 



■ Y 
Of 



I 

? Y 
rumour 

? Y 

UIISUC- 



" Y Y 
conti 



Yl I Y 
guity of 



shade, 



r~ Y Y 
of op- 

Y" Y* 

cessful 



Y ' Y- 
pressidn 



mm p. 


? 


Y 




or 


sue- 



' Y Y 
and de- 



Y ' Y* 

cessful 



• Y j ? Y I ? Y 
Might j never | reach me 



? - 
more. 



■ Y 

My 



? Y ? 



ear is 



pain'd, 



1 Y 
My 



? Y 
soul is 



? Y 
sick, with 



? Y 


? - 


- Y 


day's re- 


port, 


Of 



Y Y Y 
every 

Y* Y' 



wrong and I outrage 



r Y Y 


? Y 


?,• 




- ? 


?" 


with which 


earth is 


fili'd. 




There 


is 



no 



?• 


- Y 


?' 


Y-l Y 


? r 


- Y 


flesh 


in 


man's 


obdurate 


heart? 


It 



? Y 
does not 



? Y ? - 
feel for man: 



■ Y 

The 



Y Y Y 
natural 



? Y 
bond Of 



Y Y Y 
brotherhood 



- Y 


Y * Y* 


f Y Y 


?' 


- Y 


? Y 


Y # Y h 


is 


sever'd, 


as the 


liax 


That 


falls a- 


sunder 



44 



THE KHTTHMICAL READER. 



' Y Y I ? Y ? i»|-.Y 
at the i touch of fire. I He 



? Y I Y Y | 
funis his | fellow j 



Y Y ! II ? > 
guilty of a | skin 



y I I- I- I- h 

Not 1 coloured like his 



■ Y 

and 



Y ' Y ' 

having 



Y Y I I 
power To en- 



? Y 
force the 



? i 

own; 

? i 





? Y 


? Y 


?• 


-rl ?' 


r- Y Y 


for 


such a 


worthy 


cause, 


j Dooms 


and de 



? Y 


* Y Y 


Y' Y" 


? * 


■Z3 r*a 


votes him 


as his 


lawlul 


prey. 





Lands 



i-Y Y 


Y Y 1 1 


Y* Y' 


? - 


- Y 


Y" Y* 


inter- 


sected by a 


narrow 


frith 


Ab- 


hor each 



Y Y " 
other. I 

Yl Y I 



Y' Y* 
kindred 



?• - 
drops, 



Y Y i I I ?' 
Mountains inter j posM, 



else, 

f Y Y 
into 



1. Y . Y " 


p. Y Y 


1 nations, 


who had 



' Y 

been 



Y * Y* 

mingled 



■ Y 

Make 



_ Y 
Like 

? r 

one. 



2 1 ? R. 


? Y 


? Y 1 


- | Thus 


man de- 


votes his 



r Y Y 

and de- 



? i 
stroys; 



' Y 

And 



Y Y i 
brother, 



? Y I ?• 
worse than | all, 



■ Y 
and 



Y' I I f I ?' 
most to be de- | plor'd, 



. Y Y ' Y* 
As human 



1 Y * Y* 


Y" Y' 


? - 1 


| broadest, 


foulest 


blot, 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



45 



? Y 
Chains him, 

? Y 



Y* Y* 
bleeding 



- Y 


? Y 


Y Y 


and 


tasks him, 


and ex- 



1 ?' 


ra Y 


Y'Y h 1 


1 stripes, 


that 


Mercy | 



? - 

heart, 



? i 

Weeps 



• Y Y 
when she 



? Y 
acts his 

Y Y 
with a 

? Y 
sees in- 



Y Y I I I ? - 
flicted on a I beast. 



? - 

Then 



what 



?• 

is 



?• 


1 _ r " 


- Y 


?* j 


?• 


Y * Y # ! 


? - 


man! 




And 


what ! 


man 


seeing 


this, 



Moderate. 



i y I yy I Y'Y' ] Y'Y* 
And J having | human feelings, 



SIoiv. 

? Y 
does not 



? r I 

blush, 

? Y 
think him- 



Y 
And 



? y I ? r 

hang his | head, 



Y 
to 



1 ? Y 


9 , : 




! self a 


man ! 





Rathe?- sloic. 

Y Y Y 
I would not 



? Y 
have a 



? Yl? Y ?• 
slave to i till my ground, 



Y 
to 



? Y 
fan me 



? Y 
while I 



? - 

sleep, 



Y 

To 



Y Y Y 
carry me, 



Y 
And 



? Y 
tremble 



Y Y 



1 ? r. 


- y 


? Y 1 


1 wake, 


for 


all the | 



? Y 



Y'Y* 



? 



Y 



sinews I bought and | sold, 



1 Y 


era Vj/ 


? Y 


?• j 


1 sold, 


have 


ev er 


earnM | 



■a 


?* 




? Y 


Y ' Y' 


? » 




No; 




dear as 


freedom 


is, 



Y Y 
and in 



l(> 



THE RHYTHMIC AIi READER. 



Y ' Y" 

nij heart's 

? - 
price, 



? I I 
Just esti- 



Y Y r I ? Y I Y ? 
mation I priz'd a- | bove all 



Y Y Y 



I had much rather 



Y * Y 



? Y I ?' 
self the I slave, 



' Y 

And 



? Y I ?' 
wear the bonds, 



? Y 
be my- 

- Y 

than 



Y Y 



fasten them on | him 



Y Y 
We have 



?• 

no 



? Y 
slaves at 



9 r» 
home— 



? - 

then 



? Y 
why a- 



? - 

broad ? 



■ Y 

And 



? Y 
they them- 



selves 



Y 
once 



ferried o'er the 



I ? Y 
! wave That 



? Y 
parts us, 



9 Y Y 
are e- 



Y'l Y 
mancipate 



■ Y 
and 



loos'd. 



tm pa J ^ " 

| Slaves 



Y ' Y ' 

cannot 



? Y 
breathe in 



y " y; 

England : 





r* Y, - Y 


? Y 


Y Y 


? * 




if their 


lungs Re- 


ceive our 


air, 



' Y 
that 



Y* Y ' 
moment 



p. Y Y 



? 



they are I free ; 



■ ? 

They 



? Y 
touch our 



1 Y ' Y 1 


r» y Y 


Y * Y' 


? H 


CSS [X* 


1 country, 


and their 


shackles 


fall. 1 





That's 

?• 
proud 



Y " Y 
noble 



' Y 
And 



Y Y 
and be- 



Y • Y * f* Y Y 
jealous | of the 



? 



Y* Y* 

nation 



Y ' Y * 

blessing, 



THE RHYTHMIC All READER. 



47 



? Y 
Spread it 

Y 

through 



? « 

then, 

Y Y Y 
ev e ry 



Y 
And 



Y'Y* 
let it 



YY Y 
circulate 



? Y I ? Y ' L Y " Y 
vein Of | all your | empire; 



Y* Y ' 
that where 



Y* Y' 



Y Y Y 



Britain's j power Is 



? 
felt, 





? Y 


? Y 


y y H 


? - 


J man- 


kind may 


feel her 


mercy 


too. 



GOD. 



DERZHAVIJ*. 



Slow. 

9'\ ? Y 
Thoue- 



? r- I ?•! ? Y 
bright | All I space doth 



? Y 


? - 


- Y 


ternal 


One! 


whose 



Y Y Y 
oc cupy, 



Y " Y' 

presence 

r I ?« 

all 



Y Y f 
motion 



? - 
guide ; 



■ Y 

Un- 



? Y 
changed through 



time's 



?• 

all- 



I- p |. |. 9 v, 

devastating flight j 



? I Y'Y" I ? Y 
There is no | God be- 



- ? 

Thou 

? ;i 

side ! 



?y| ? * 

only | God ! 



Y * Y * 
Being 



Y 
a- 



?• I ?• I Y # Y- 
bove j all I beings ! 



? Y I ? - 

Mighty | One! 



Y I ? Y 
Whom | none can 



Y " Y* 
compre- 



hend 



■ Y 

and 



48 



THE RHYTHM ICAI READER. 



? Y 
none cx- 



? -1 


- Y 


? Y 


Y Y f- 1 


plore ; 


Who 


Gll'st ex- 


| istence 



rr Y Y 
with Thy- 



? Y 


? * 




self a- 


lone : 


Em- | 



Y' Y* 



? 




- Y 




all,— 




sup- 


porting, — 




yy 1 P 


Y Y 




Being | 


whom we 



Y . y . 

ruling J o'er, 
? - I - Y. 



?• 




? r 


2 


YYY 


know 


no 


more ! 




In its sub- 



call God — and 



? Y 
lime re- 



1 ? <- 


- Y 


Y- 1 Y 


- Y 


V Y* 


| search, 


Phi- 


losophy 


May 


measure 



? Y 
out the 

rv y 

or the 

? <- 

Thee 



Y ' Y * 



sun's 



? r 


- Y 


? 


Y 


?• 1 


deep— 


may 


count The 


sands | 


?• 


->| ? H 


?• 


for | 


rays — 


1 but, 


God! 





«• Y Y 
There is 



?• 


?• 


- Y 1 


no 


weight 


nor 1 



Y ' Y* 



r 


? Y 


?• 1 


? Y 


? - 




none can 


mount 


Up to 


Thy 



Y* I Y 
mysteries ; 



Y ' Y* 



Y* Y* ! ? 



Reason's | brightest j spark, 



1 Y* Y* 


? -1 - 


1 by Thy 


light, | 



• Y 

Though 

Y I ? Y 
in vain would 



? Y 
try To 



? Y 
trace Thy 



Y # Y # 
counsels, 



Y'l Y 
infinite 



' Y 

and 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



49 



? ; * 

dark ! 



• Y 
And 



? Y 
thought is 



? - 

lost 



• ? 

ere 



? Y I ? 
soar so | high, 



Yl Y I ? 
Even like | past | moments 



? Y , 
thought can I 



Y' Y' 



i* Y Y 
in e- 



? 1 1 - 


2 1 ?• 1 


ternity. 


- ^ | Thou | 



Y'Y'I Y Y Y I - Y 
meval | nothingness | did'st | call 



Y Y 
from pri- 

- - | ?• 

First 



Y Y 
chaos, 



then 



Y 

ex- 



istence ; — 



Lord! 



Y Y 
dation 



- Y 

of 

?' 
Sole 



■Y Y* 
on Thee 



- Y I Y* I I H 

E- I ternity 





?• 


?' 


? Y 




all 


sprung 


forth from 



Y Y Y 
had its foun- 



? < 
Thee :- 



?• 




i .?• 


1 - ** 1 Y* 1 Y 


light, 






1 harmony, 


1 1 Y 




-\ 


?' 1 ? «• 1 -r. 


origin 






all | life, 1 



?• 

all 



Y Y i- 


1 9 - 


- Y 


beauty 


1 Thine. 


Thy 



? Y 
word cre- 



a ted 



?• 

all, 



Y 



I ? Y 


? - 


- Y 


1 doth ere- 


ate; 


Thy 



all 

[art, 



1 ? * 


- Y 


? Y 1 ?* 1 -i- 


I space 


with 


rays di- | vine. | 



I and 


1 ? * 


- x 1 




1 




1 wert, 


and 


shalt 





fills 



■ Y 

Thou 



£ 



50 

Y* I Y 
Glorious ! 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



Great! 



, Y * Y ' 
Light- I giving, 



? Y 
life-sus- 



? Y I Y'Y' 



taining | Poten- | tate! 



Y 
Thy 



chains 

?• 

round : 



i* Y Y 

the un- 



Y* Y- 

measur'd 



Y I Y- 
universe 



- Y 

sur- 

? Y I ? Y 
Thee in- | spir'd with 



Y 



1 ? Y 


?' 


- Y 


I held by 


Thee, 


by 



? 

breath ! 



Y I Y 
Thou thebe- 



Y* Y* I * Y Y I ? Y 



ginning j with the | end hast I bound, 



Y* Y* I ? Y 



beautifully | mingled 1 life and 1 death ! | 



- Y 

And 



■ Y 

As 



Y* Y* 



Y Y I I 



Y Y Y 



sparks mount upwards from the | fi er y I blaze, 



- ? 
spring 



- Y 


? Y 


?• 


- Y 


?' 1 


So 


suns are 


born, 


So 


worlds 1 



? Y ? r- 

forth from Thee ; 

r i- i- i- 1 ? r> 

in the sunny | rays 



Y Y Y I Y # Y* 
And as the | spangles 



? Y I ? Y 
Shine | round the I silver 



? e I - Y | I" |* I' I 



snow, 



Y " Y 



the I pageantry Of | heaven's | bright 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



51 



? Y 
army 



glitters 



ifY Y I ?• 

in Thy | praise.* 



- Y I Y # Y # I Y Y 
A J million | torches 



Y Y Y I Y* V 
lighted by | Thy hand 



Y Y Y 
Wander un- 



V Y # 
wearied 



' Y Y 
through the 



? Y 
blue a- 



I byss : 

I Y* Y* 
I complish 



life, 



Y I? Y I Y Y I - Y 

They | own thy I power, I ao 



? Y 
gay with 



i- 1- 1- Mr,? 1 -* 

eloquent with | bliss. 



Y Y 


1 ?• 




?• 


Thy com- 


I mand 




All 



?• 

all 



Y Y Y 
What shall we 



Y* Y* 
call them ? 



?* I - Y 

light— A 

?' I -«• 

streams — | 

? Y ?' 
burning bright 



Y # l Y 
glorious 



? Y | Y # Y # 
Piles of I crystal 



I- I' I* I* I ? Y 
company of | golden 



Y " r I' I Y • Y | Y Y *~ 
Lamps of ce- | lestial | ether 

p> im I cp- I y* Y* I Yi Y # 

I Suns I lighting j systems 



* " The force of this simile," says Bowring, in his Specimens of the 
Russian Poets, " can hardly be imagined by those who have never wit- 
nessed the sun shining, with unclouded splendour, in a cold of twenty 
or thirty degrees of Reaumur. A thousand and ten thousand sparkling 
stars of ice, brighter than the brightest diamond, play on the surface of 
the frozen snow ; and the slightest breeze sets myriads of icy atoms in 
motion, whose glancing light, and beautiful rainbow hues, dazzle and 
weary the eye." 



52 



THE RHXTHMICA1 READER. 



Y Y I ? Y I ?• 
with their | joyous | beams? 



- Y 

But 



? Y 
thou to 



1 ?• -1 


1 y- h I- 1 


? 


Y 


1 these 1 


1 art as the 


noon 


to 



1 ? -|-«- 


1 ? r 


f" Y Y 


? Y| 


1 night. 1 


Yes! 


as a 


drop of 1 



I- 1- I- 



sea, I 

?• 

Thee 



All 



Y ' Y* Y Y Y 



this mag- | nificence 



- Y 

in 



Y 
is 



lost :- 



Y Y Y 
What are ten- 



Y ' Y* 



- Y 



thousand | worlds | com- | par'd to | Thee ! 



? Y| ? 



Y 



1 Y* Y'l 


V 


? - 


2 


I what am 




then ? 


mm r* 



Y Y Y 
Heaven's un- 



Y ' Y* ?' 
number'd I host, 



Y 

Though multiplied by 



Y I Y* 
myriads, 



«• Y Y 

and ar- 

?' 
thought, 



? Y 
ray'd In 



? Y 
all the 



Y i I Y I Y ' Y 



glory of sub- | limest 



Y 



I? 



? Y 
weighed A- 

Y .Y . i* I 
cypher 

Y' 



Is but an atom in the 



? Y I Y* Y* 

gainst Thy | greatness, 



Y Y ' 
balance 



r? Y Y 

is a 



Y 



? Y I Y 1 1 



brought A- [ gainst in- | finity ! 



Y* 


V 


? r.1 2 1 


am 




then ? | - r* | 



nil or lit ' 



THE RHYTHMIC XL READER. 



53 



Nought ! 



-i-li-Y YlYYY 



But the I effluence 
Y I Y * Y.* I ? 



i- Y Y 

of Thy 



? Y I ?* 
light di- | vine, Per- | vading | worlds, 



Y* Yf 


? Y 


1 9 - 




reach'd my 


bosom 


too; 


1 Yes ! 1 



Y Y Y 
my spirit 



Y 



Y Y Y 



doth I thy spirit | shine, 



? Y I Y* Y? 
shines the sunbeam 



i- Y Y 
in a 



? Y 
drop of 



- Y 

hath 



Y 
in 



- Y 

As 

? - 
dew. 



2 


?■ 


1 


i- YY 


?' i 


* Y Y 




Nought ! 




but! 


live, 1 


and on 



? 



Y * Y' 



hope's j pinions 

Y* Y* I " " 

presence; | 



breathe, 

? Y 
Even 



? - 
fly 

? Y 
for in 

Y I ?' 
and j dwell; 



Y'Y 
Eager 



Y Y Y 
towards Thy 



Thee 



Y 
I 



live, 



- Y 

and 



' Y 

as- 



Y # Y " I ?• 



piring j high, 



«• Y Y 

to the 



?• 

throne 



I Y 



Y I 



2 I ? Y 


?• 


?• 


" Y 1 


— p» 1 I am, 





God ! 


and 1 



of Thy di- | vinity. 



? Y 



must be ! 



I Thou art ? 



y. y. 


y. y. 


?' 


- Y 


?' 


recting, 


guiding 


all, 


Thou 


art ! 



E2 



- Y 

Di- 



Y 

Di- 



54 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER. 



? Y 
rect my 

- Y 

Con- 

?• 
heart : 



?Y|?Y|?Y|? f 
under- | standing j then to | Thee ; 

? Y I Y. Y «* I ? Y YYY 
trol my I spirit | guide my wandering 



Y # I Y 
Though but an 



YY 
atom 



? Y 
midst im- 



Y' I Y 
mensity, 



Y* I Y 
Still I am 



Y* Y* 

something, 



fashion'd by Thy | hand! 



Y 
I 



? Y 
hold a 



Y Y Y 
middle rank 



Y Y 
On the 



? 



Y Y Y 



'twixt I heaven and | earth, 



?• 


? Yl 


Y* Yl 


Y' 


f 


?• 


last 


verge of 


mortal 


be 


ing 


stand, 



Y* I Y 
Close to the 



?• 1 


- Y 


realms 


where 



1 ? * 




Y- i Y 


1 birth, 




Just on the 



Y*Y* 
angels 



YYY 
boundaries 



«• Y Y Y Y Y 
of the | spirit-land ! 



Y 
The 



? Y 
chain of 



Y'Y* I i* Y Y 

be ing | is com- 1 plete in | me ; 



? Y I ? i- | - Y 
In 



? Y 
me is 



Y • Y # 
matter's 



? Y 
last gra- 



Y Y « 
dation 



lost ; 



Y Y 
and the 



?• I ?• 

next | step 



Y I Y Y * 
is | spirit — 



Y II < 
Deity ! 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



55 



Y Y Y 
I can com- 



? Y 
mand the 



Y ' Y* 
lightning 



i- Y Y I ?' 
and am 1 dust ! 



Y 
A 



Y* Y* 


p Y Y 


1 


- Y 


?• 


monanch, 


and a 


1 slave i 


a 


worm, 



- Y 


?• 


12 1 ?• 


? Y 


? Y 1 


a 


god ! 


j mm pm 1 Whence 


came I 


here, and | 



? . 

how ? 



■ Y 

So 



Y' I Y 
marvellous- 



Y " Y* 
ly Con- 



Y* Y h 

structed 



i- Y Y 



1 ?• 


2 


- Y 


1 i 


1 ceiv'd ? 


mm p» 


un- 


| known ! 



p ? 


? p 


?• 


? Y 


this 


clod 


Lives 


surely 



Y Y 
through some 



Y'Y 



Y I 



higher | energy 



- *? I Y - I Y 

For from it- 



? Y 
self a- 



?• 

lone 



Y 
it 



Y" Y* 
could not 



? - 

be ! 



Moderate, with in- 

- y 

Cre- 



creasing animation. 



?'p 

yes 



p Y 
Thy 



Y* Y* 
wisdom 



? Y 
ator, 

Y Y I ?* 
and thy | word 



- Y 

Cre- 

? Y 
life and 



«• Y Y 
and my 



y.y. j 9 

a ted me ! 



?• 

good ! 

?• 

Lord ! 



H ? 



? Y 



Thou source of 



?' 1 Y Y Y I Y Y Y 



Thou I spirit of j my spirit, 



- Y 

Thy 



light, 



Y 
Thy 



? p 
love, 



p Y Y 


?' 


Y 1 Y # I - 


in their 


bright 


plenitude | 



? Y 
Fill'd me 



56 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



with an ira- 



Y I I Y 
Over the a- 



VT 


?* 


- Y 


mortal 


soul 


to 



?• 

spring 



1 ? 


Y 


?' 


- Y 


Y # 


Y 


I byss 


of 


death, 


and 


bade 


it 



? Y 
wear The 



Y* Y* 

garments 



f Y Y 



1 ? Y 


?• 


1 ternal 


day, 



? Y I Y Y Y 



Y 



wing Its I heavenly flight be- 



■ Y 

and 



Y Y Y 



? 

yond I this little 



?• 




? Y 


i- Y Y 


?• 


- Y 


sphere, 




Even 


to its 


source— 


to 





- Y 


Y ' Y h 


? - 


ma p. 


Thee— 


its 


Author 


there. 





Rather fast. 

?• 
o 



with spirit. 

I thoughts in- 



Y 


Y Y Y 




?' 


Y * Y* 


?' 


in- 


ef fable ! 







visions 


blest 





Y 




«* Y Y 




Though 


worthless 


our con- 



y . y . 

ceptions 



1 ? Y 


?' 




1 all of 


Thee, 





Y' I Y 
Yet shall Thy 



y. y. 

shadow'd 



Y ? 
image 



y.y. 

fill our 



breast, 



Slow. 



to Thy Deity 



Y Y 





Y 


? Y 


Y ? 




And 


waft its 


homag 




4 


?• 


r* 


Y Y 






God ! 




thus a- 



? Y 
lowly 



? Y 
thoughts can 



?• 






soar ; 




Thus 



? Y 
lone my 

? Y 
seek thy 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



57 



Y Y * 

presence — 



Y* Y' 
Being 



? Y 
wise and 



1 ?• 


? Y 


?• 


- Y 


1 vast 


works ad- 


mire, 


0- 



good ! 



bey, 



? Y 
Midst Thy 



- Y 

a- 



Y 

And 



Y 
The 



? Y 
when the 

? Y 
soulr shall 



? Y 
tongue is 



speak 



eloquent no 

Y I ?• 
in tears 



Y I Y* I 4 
gratitude. | — r* 



dore j 

?• 

more, 



of 



PART OF THE EPISCOPAL BURIAL SERVICE. 
FROM THE BOOK OF COMMON PRATER. 

Rather slow. 



3 Y Y Y Y" Y" I Y* Y* 
I am the res ur- rection 



Y Y I ? f? 
and the | life, 



? Y 
saith the 



?• 

Lord ; 



Y* I Y 
he thatbe- 



Y Y Y 
lieveth in 



? 

me, 



Y yy|? ^Iy-iyI? «f 

though he were | dead, | yet shall he 1 live j 



?• 

know 



| and 


i- i- i- i- 


Y Y i- 


f Y ¥ I 




whosoever 


liveth, 


and be- 1 



? - 




TT 


? 1 


I | 


me, 


shall 


never 


die. 1 





Y Y Y 
that my Re- 



? Y 


Y . y . 




deemer 


liveth, 





Y * I I I 
and that he shall 



58 



THE RHYTHMIC All READER. 



? « 

stand 



at the latter 



and though worms de- ! stroy 



Y Y 



? - 
day 



Y 



i» I I Y 
upon the 



I ? - 
this 



? «- 

earth, 

YY I* 
body, 



I Y' I Y 
I yet in my | flesh 

Slow. 



2 




1 


«• Y Y 1 




Be- 


| hold, 


thou hast 1 



r- Y Y I ? i 
shall I see 



? Y 



God. 



• Y Y 

as it 



Y <- Y I ?* 1 ?* 
were a | span I long : 



- «• I i- Y Y 

I and mine 



?• 


- Y 


Y'l Y 


Y Y f 


ry Y 


1 ? Y 


age 


is 


even as 


nothing 


in re- 


| spect of 



thee; 



Y 



Y Y Y 



and I veri Jy 



Y Y Y 
ever y 



man 



Y I ? Y I Y * Y * 1 Y I I 



is J al to- I gether | vanity ; 



?• 1 Y 

man walketh in a 



living 

r ? 

for 



1 1 




Y Y r 


!* Y Y 


in a 


vain 


shadow, 


and dis 



Y 1 Y 1 


? Y 


1 ? >- 1 


" Y 1 


quieteth him- 


self in 


vain: 


he | 



? - 


Y* Y H i 


- Y 


Y* Y * 


?• 


up 


riches 


and 


cannot 


tell 



Y" Y* 



? Y 
who shall 



Y Y Y 
gather them. 



Y * y 

thy sight 



1 Y 
A 



m r» 


V 1 Y 




are but as 



Y ' Y" 
thousand 

Y Y Y 
yesterday ; 



years 



1 Y 
in 

Y* Y * 
seeing 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



59 



? Y I ? 
that is I past 



f Y Y I V I Y I ? 
as a I watch in the | night. 



Y I Y # I Y I I" M # I* 
As soon as thou I scatterest them 



Y'l III? 
even as a | sleep : 



- Y I Y 



Y 



Y Y | 
they are j 

Y Y Y 



and | fade away | suddenly 



i~ Y Y 



1 ? * 1 


- Y 


1 Y # V 


? *• 1 - «• 


1 green, | 


and 


1 groweth 


up : 



like the | grass. 



i* Y Y 



Y Y Y I ? Y 
but in the 1 evening 



Y " Y ' 

dri ed 



? Y ? 
surae a- way 



? - 1 - 



i- y Y 
In the 



? Y 
morning 



«• Y Y 

it is 



? - 

cut 



? - 

down, 



? - 1 


- Y 


Y* Y* 


2 


up, 


and 


withered. 





• Y Y 
We con- 



Y Y Y 
in thv dis- 



Y* Y* 
pleasure, 



1 ? " 


'r y y 


? Y | 


1 fraid 


at thy 


wrathful | 



Y*Y 



Y* Y* I - " - Y 

nation: for 



? Y | c 
all our I days are 



V I Y 
when thou art 



? Y 
angry, 



Y 


?• 1 


Y Y 


? Y 


are 


gone j 


and we 


bring our 



?• 


¥ Y Y 


?• 




Y 1 Y 1 


?• 


years 


to an 


end, 




as it were a 


tale 



? Y Y 


?• 1 2 


- ? 


Y* 


Y 1 


that is 


told. 1 — r- 


So 


teach 


us to 



CO 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Y Y Y 
number our 



? Y 



days 



ply our I hearts 



Moderate. 

? Y 
Now is 

? Y 
| come the 

? Y 
since by 

Y Y H 
al so I 



?• IK 

Christ risen from the 



Y Y 
unto 



I' I' 



that we may ap- 
I 4 



Y Y 
wisdom. 



? 
dead, 



• Y Y 
and be- 



? Y 
fruits of 



?• 

first 

?• 

man 



the resur- 



? Y 
them that 



9 i~ 

slept : 



1 ?• 


? - 


- Y 


?• 


came 


death, 


by 


man 



-Y I 

for I 

?• 

came 



i- i- i- i- 1 ? 

rection of the j dead. 



Y Y Y Y 
As in I Adam 



?• I ?• 

all j die, 



?Y 
even 



1 -Y 1 ?' 


- Y 


? 




? Y 


1 in j Christ 


shall 


all 


be 


made a- 



Y 



Y 



Y 1 ? 



But j some man will | say, 



Y Y Y I Y 



— I Y Y Y 
dead raised | up? | and with what | body do they 



Y Y Y 
"How are the 



i- i- i- r 



come?" 



2 1 ?• 


?' 




- r- 1 Thou 


fool! 





Y Y Y 
that which thou 



Y* Y* 

sowest 



Y'Y'I Y'Y* I i* I Y I I ? 
is not j quickened | except it I die : 



Y Y Y 



1 Y* Y* 


- Y 


1 sowest 


thou 



Y Y Y 
sowest not 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



61 



Y ' I J I 



1 ? Y 


- Y 


?• 


?• l-r 


| shall be, 


but 


bare 


grain, | 



<* Y Y 
it may 

I I ? 
other grain: 



? Y 


1 ? -1 


- 1 1 Y 1 


chance of 


wheat 


or of some [ 



YY ' 
body, 

Y Y Y 
ev er y 



- Y 

but 

Y'l Y I ? Y 
as it hath | pleased 



God I giveth it a 



? - 

him j 



r y y 

and to 



1 1 


- Y 


?• 


1 seed 1 


his 


own 



Y Y - | |- | 
al so, 



Y Y * I 2 I ? 
body. I — r» | So, 

I' I' I ? «• 

is the resur- rection of the I dead : 



f Y Y 
it is 



Y* I Y 



sown in cor- | ruption ; 



Y Y i* I f, Y Y 



? Y 



? Y 



Y Y 



incor- | ruption : 



I Y 

< O..C-X 



i sown in dis- 



Y Y 
glory : 



Y Y M^YY 



honour ; 



it is 



tf YY I ? Y , 

it is j sown in | weakness j 



it is 

** Y Y 

it is 

? Y 
raised in 

Y 



|" Y Y 
it is 



? 

sown a 



Y 



Y 



raised in | power 



Y Y !• ,-<- 



Y Y Y 
natural 



Y Y 
body; 



i" Y Y 

it is 



i-Y Y 

it is 

raised a 



Y l\ t Y Y i* I 2 I m ? I ? Y 



spiritual body. 



Now this I 



? - 

say, 



62 



THE RHYTHMICAX READER. 



brethren, 



■ Y j ? Y, 
that I flesh and 



? 
blood 



Y Y Y 
cannot in- 



Y Y Y 
heritthe 



Y Y Y 
kingdom of 



? 

God; 



I* \> I' I* 
neither doth cor- 



Y Y ! 
ruption 

- Y 

Be- 



Y 
in- 



Y Y i- 

herit 



? Y I Y Y ■ i- 
incor- ! ruption. 



hold, 



Y 
I 



Y* Y I I Y Y Y 



show you a | myster y, 



Y Y Y I ?.' I ? 
We shall not | all | sleep : 



Y Y Y I ? Y 



but we shall all be 



Y • Yr ] r Y Y 



Y Y 



changed in a | moment, | in the I twinkling of an 



eye, 



«• Y Y 

at the 



last 



? 

trump : 



f Y Y j 
for the 



Y Y Y 
trumpet shall 

?■ i ?!y 

tised I incor- 





im v Y Y 1 


sound, 


1 and the | 



rais 

?• 

changed. 

Y * Y * 
put on 



? Y Y 
ruptible, 



Y 

and 



Y Y Y 
we shall be 



Y 

For 



? Y 
this cor- 



Y Y Y 
ruptible 



Y 
must 



? Y 

incor- | ruption, 



Y Y Rf 



Y Y i V Y* 
and this mortal 



I - Y I Y* Y* I Y'Y 



,YYY 

must j put on | immor- | tal i ty. 



I Y Y Y I YYY I .i- Y Y 
| when tins cor- | ruptible J shall have | put on 



9r 

So 
Y ' Y* 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



63 



? Y 
incor- 



Y Y ' 
ruption ; 



• Y Y 
and this 



Y ' Y * 
mortal 



n* Y Y 
shall have 



y # y; 

put on 



1 Y'Y' 


Y Y Y 




1 immor- 


tal i ty, 





Y' 



Y 



Y 



Y 



then shall be 



Y Y I I I Y Y i- 



brought to I pass the saying that is | written, 



? 

"Death 

With spirit. 



Y [ Y Y Y 
is j swallowed 



? Y I Y I I «- 
up in I victory." 





?• 


?• 


™ r» 


Y* 1 Y 


? 


mm p# 







Death! 




where is thy 


sting? 





?• 





?• 


1 ~¥ I Y- 1 Y 1 


grave ! 


1 where is thy I 



- Y 1 ? Y 


?• 


- Y 


The I sting of 


death 


is 



Y I I 



? - 

sin ; 



? Y 
strength of 



? - 

sin 



Hy y I ? 



is the law. 



• Y Y 
and the 



■ Y 

But 



thanks be to 



Y I I 
victory, 



1 


?• 1 


- Y 


Y* Y * 


? 


to 


God 1 


who 


giveth 


us 



Slow. 

Y* 



Y' 



Y 



? Y 



through our | Lord J Jesus 



Christ. — 



? Y Y 
Man that is 



Y Y - 

woman 

- Y Y 

and is 



? Y Y 



?* Y I Y* I Y 
full of j misery. 



1 H 


[ ?' Y 


1 short 


time to 



? Y Y 
born of a 



live, 



- P- Y 

He 



64 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER- 



Y Y ' 
cometh 



Y Y 1 
flower: 



up, 



Y Y I tl 
and is | cut 



H 
down 



Y 


Y'Y* *> 


- Y Y 1 


he 


fleeth, 


as it 1 



- Y Y 

like a 

? -Y 

vere, a 



Y Y - - V. Y 



shadow, 



3 

9 9 9 



and I never con- 



YYY Y 
tinueth in 



one 



1 ?• <• 


•t 


Y 


?' 






1 stay. 




the 


midst 




life 1 



9 ? 9 

we are in 



9- 

death: 



Very slow. 

y I 

of 



9 Y Y 
whom may we 



9* Y 
seek fop 



j Y Y - 1 


- Y 


Y ( 9' i- 1 H 1 H II 


1 succour, j 


but 


of I thee, 1 j Lord, | 


1 9 Y Y 


1 H 1 


- 9 1 9-Y 9 1 9 9 


j who for our 


1 sins j 


art 1 justly dis- I pleased? 


1 - i- Y 1 H 


1 H 


j ti 1 H J 9-Y 1 i 1 a 


1 Yet j 


j Lord 


1 God 1 most j holy ; | | 



3 

?• y9 



I B 1 9 * Y 1 I 


H 


9-Y 1 


| most 1 mighty ; | 





ho ly 



■ Y Y 
and most 



9* Y 



merci ful | Saviour, 



9y y 

into the 

9- f 

death. 



Y Y 
bitter 



™ " Y 

de- 



n 

pains 



3 

99 9 

liver us 

■ Y Y 

of e- 



9- - 

not 

9-Y 

ternal 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



65 



NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 
COWPER. 



Moderate. 

I Y* I 
Forc'd from 



home and 



Y* I 
all its 



Y Y 
pleasures, 



Y Y 



Y* J I Y' I 



Afric's coast I | left for- I lorn ; 



To in- 



Y* I 

crease a 



Y Y 



Y 



stranger's | treasures, 



Y" I 
O'er the 



Y Y Y Y 



raging | billows 



? 
born. 



Y" I 
bought and 



Y " I 
sold me, 



2 



Y # I I Y Y 
Men from | England 



Y- I 
Paid my 



Y- I 
price in 



Y" I 
paltry 



? 
gold 5 



Y Y 
But though 



? 
slave 



Y I I 
they have en- 



1 Y * 1 [ r-» *• 


? 


r Y 1 


Y Y 


Y 


Y 1 


I roll'd me, | 


Minds 


are | 


never 


to 


be 1 



? 

sold. 



YV I 
What are 



1 2 


Y* 1 


Y' 1 




1 r« r" 


Still in 


thought as 


free as | ever, 1 



Y Y I Y 
England's | rights, 



I 



ask, 



Y' I 
Me to 



Y* I I Y* I I Y* I 



Me from | my de- | lights to | sever, 



Y- [ 




Y" 1 


? 


2 


torture, 




me to 


| task? 


i» r» 



Y* 1 
Fleecy 



F2 



66 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER. 



Y ' I 
locks and 



Y' 



I 



Y I H I Y Y I Y Y 



black com- | plexion | cannot | forfeit 



Y Y 
Nature's 



but af- 



same. 
Y* 



? 

claim ; 

Y I i 

fection 



Y* I 



Skins may | differ, 



Y- I 
Dwells in 



Y * I 

white and 



V ! 
black the 



Rather slow. 



2 


ff 1 1 


V 1 1 


Y Y 


Y Y 




Why did! 


all cre- 


ating 


nature 



J y a I 


Y' 1 


? 1 it. 1 


1 plant for 


which we 


toil?| 1 



? 

Sighs 



^ Y 1 Y Y 


j r* r* 


? 


Y 


I Y 1 1 


must 1 fan it, 




tears 


must 


| water, | 


1 Y* II 


9 1 


Y 


1 V 


i 1 ? 1 


1 Sweat of 


ours 1 


must 1 dress 


the | soil. J 



Moderate. 

Y 



1 Y Y 


Y Y 1 


1 masters 


iron- | 



Y I ** 



Y Y 
Lolling 



Y' I 
Think how 



I I 



Y 



at your | jovial 
YY | Y* 



? 

boards, 



many | backs have 



Y I 
smarted 



I I Y" 



For the | sweets your | cane af- | fords. | p» r«» 



2 



Y Y 
Is there, 

r i 

one who 



• I I I Y Y 
as ye | sometimes | tell us, 



Y Y | 



Is there 



reigns on 



Y" ' 
high? 



Y Y I Y Y 



r» r» I Has he | bid you 



THE RHYTHMIC All RBAUEE. 



67 



Y Y I I 
buy and | sell us, 



Y Y 
Speaking 



- i i 

from his 



? 

throne 



I Y* 
the I sky? 



i* r» I Ask I him, 



Y Y 



if your I knotted | scourges, 



Y Y 



Y Y 
Matches, 



H Y* 



Y Y 



blood ex- I torting | screws, 



Are the 



Y I i-1 Y Y 



means that 1 duty | urges 



Y Y 
Agents 



Y.; I 
will to 

2 I 



Y* ' 

use? 

Y" 



3 

Y Y 



? 

Hark! 



he 



of his 

Y Y 
answers, — 



r* r- J wild tor- j nados, 



Y* I 
sea with 



? 

wrecks ; 



Y Y 
| strewing 

Y Y 
Wasting 



Y* I 
yonder 

? 

towns, 



• Y 

plan- 

i i 

Are the I voice 



Y Y 
tations, 

? 



I Y Y 
I meadows, 

I Y- I 
with I which he 



if r- I He, 



Y Y 



? I " Y 



fore- 



Y Y 



Y 



seeing | what vex- 



Y I 



Afric's sons should under- 



Y* —i 

go, 



? 

speaks. 

Y Y 
a tions 



mr»,\ Y 



Y Y 



Fixed their I tyrant's | habi- } tations 



Y Y I Y Y 



68 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Y * 1 


Y Y 


Y Y 




? 


3 


Where his 


WHIRXWINDS 


answer, 




KO. 





Y Y 
By our 

Y* I 
necks re- 



Y Y Y 



Y* 1 


Y Y 


Y Y I 


blood in 


Afric 


wasted, | 



Y' I 

ceived the 



? I -«-- I V I 
chain j | | By the 



Y Y 

miseries that we 



Y ! 
tasted, 



Y Y I Y Y 
Crossing | in your 



Y« 1 


? 




Y Y 


barks the 


main \ 




By our 



Y* I 
brought us 

Rather slow 

? 

All, 



Y ' I 



Moderate. 

Deem our 



1 «- \ 1 


Y' 1 


1 to the 


man de- 



I Y 



Y Y 



Y" I 

since ye 



V 



grading | mart ; 



Y Y 



sus- I tained by | patience, 



1 v-l 1 


- 1 1 1 Y Y 


? 


1 Only 


by a j broken 


heart : 



Y Y 
nation 



Y' I 
brutes no 



Y Y 



1 Y Y 


Y 


Y 


? 1 


| reason 


ye 


shall 


find 1 



? 

gard, 

? 
kind. 



^ Y 
and 



longer, 

3 

Y* I Y 



Y I H 



V I I V I 
stronger | Than the | colour 



Y* I 



1 Y ! 


r. Y 1 


1 gold, | 


whose I 



Y Y 
of re- 

Y Y 
of our 

Y Y 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



69 



Y Y 
dealings 



Y Y 
Tarnish 



Y 



Y* 



all your | boasted 



Y Y 



Y Y 
powers, 

Y Y 



I Prove that | you have | human | feelings, 

Y' I I Y # I 1 Y Y I ? I 3 
I Ere you J proudly | question | ours ! | r* r» 



SPEECH OF THE EARL OF CHATHAM, ON THE SUBJECT OF 
EMPLOYING INDIANS TO FIGHT AGAINST THE AMERI- 
CANS, Nov. 18, 1777. 



Moderate, with energy. 



Y 
I 



Y * Y ' 
cannot, 



- Y 



my I lords, 



Y 
I 



Y * Y* 
will not, 



join 



I V Y ' 
| fortune 



in con- 



Y Y 
and dis- 



Y * Y* 


1 Y ' 


r <* 1 


Y* Y* 


gratu- 


| lation 


on mis- 


1 ?* 


2 


?• 


- Y 


1 grace. 




This, 


my 



lords, 



«• Y Y j Y Y Y 
is a | perilous 



■? Y Y 

and tre- 



mendous 



Y' Y- 
moment- 



p-YY 
it is 



? Y 
not a 



? Y I Y-Y # 



time for I ad u- 



Y Y !• 
lation ; 



' Y 
the 



Y * I Y Y I h 
smoothness of flattery 



Y*'Y" 
cannot 



? Y 


i-Y Y 




- Y 


? Y 


save us 


in this 


rugged 


and 


awful 



Y Y i- 

crisis. 



i-Y Y I ?• h I" I 



It is now 



necessary 



to in- 



? Y 
struct the 





?• 

throne 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



*• Y Y I V I Y 
in the | language of 



? 

truth. 



? Y Y Y Y 
must, if possible, 



Y I Y* I Y 



dis- [ pel the de- 



- Y 

We 



Y Y Y 
lusion and 



? Y 
darkness 



?• 

play, 



Y ? 
colours, 

? 

doors. 



i- Y Y 

which en- 



in its | full | danger 



velop it ; 



Y*Y 



h • I p» y Y 



Y 

and 



and dis- 

Y Y Y 
genuine 



Y Y'Y' 



the | ru in 



' Y Y 

which is 



Y* I Y 
brought to our 



Y YY Y Y Y 
Can I ministers | still pre- 



Y I ? Y 



<- Y Y 



YYY 



sume to ex- | pect sup- | port | in their | in fatu- 



Y Y i* 

ation ? 

Y" I Y 
dead to its 

YYY 
give its sup- 



Y 
Can 



Y I Y* 
parliament 



dignity and 
?* I - Y 



port 



YYY 
truded and 



lords, 



? Y 
forced up- 



to | 

Y Y * 
on it, 



Y Y * 
duty, 

I Y' Y # 
measures 



be so 



Y Y 
as to 



Y # Y' 
thus ob- 



Y Y Y 
measures, my 



. Y Y Y 
which have re- 



? Y 
duced this 



?• 

late 



Y Y Y | Y'Y 



flourishing | empire | to | scorn 



Y Y 
and con- 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



71 





?• 


Y Y Y 1 


- Y 




But 


yesterday, | 


and 



y. y. 

England 



? Y 


? Y 


? Y 1 


?' 1 


might have 


stood a- 


gainst the 


world; | 



?• 

now, 



? Y I ? 



none so | poor 



«• Y Y 

as to 



Y 
The 



y.y. j y y y 

do her | reverence ! 

Y Y H I Y* I Y I ? Y 
people, | whom we at | first de- 



? Y 
spised as 



Y Y f 


- Y 1 


? Y 1 


? Y 


rebels, 


but 


whom we 


now ac 



Y Y Y 
knowledge as 



Y I Y' 
enemies, 



p- Y Y 

are a- 



? 




gainst 


us, | 


?• 


- Y 


store, 


their 



Y 



Y 



sup- J plied with 



Y Y Y 
ever y 



Y Y Y 
betted a- 

I YlYl 
| military 



I: I- I- I" 

interest con- 



Y Y i" 
suited, 



Y Y Y 
and their am- 



y I fr 

bassadors 



Y Y 
enter- 



?• 

tain'd 



Y Y Y 
by our in- 



YYY 
veterate 



Y lY -i 
enemy ; — 



Y 



y y y y-y 



and [ ministers | do not, 



, y y. y. 

and | dare not, 



"YY j 
inter- 



pose 



' Y 

with 



Y'l Y 
dignity 



f-YY I ?• 
or ef- feet. 



Y Y Y 
army a- 



? 

broad 



ad | F 



' Y 

The 



Y Y 



Y Y Y 
desperate 



Y' I Y 
state of our 



2 



is in | part | known. 



72 



THE RHYTHMIC All READER. 



Y * Y* 
No man 

Y* Y* 
English 



f ? 

more 

? 

troops 



Y Y Y 
highly es- 



teems and 



Y 
than 



? Y 
I do: 



Y Y Y 
honours the 



Y 
I 



? Y | Y'Y" 
know their | virtues 

Y' I I I 
know they can a- 

? I I I I I Y ' 
iinpossi- | bilities; 



Y* Y I I Y Y Y 
conquest of | English A- 



r» Y Y- 
and their 



Y y r* I - y 

valour ; I 



?* I Y I V* 
chieve | any thing 



Y 
but 



• Y Y 
and I 

y I I r 

merica 



know that the 
? Y ? I I 



is an 



bility. 

?• 

can- 



- Y I Y Y Y I ?' 
You I cannot, my | lords, 



?• 

not 



Y Y Y 
conquer A- 



Y I I 
merica. 



YYYlYYtllYY Y 
What is your | present situ- | ation there ? 



lmpossi- 

■ Y 

you 



- r I 



We I do not 



? Y 
know the 



worst : 



Y Y I ? Y 
that in | three cam- 



paigns 



Y'Y* 1 


- Y 


Y* Y* 


1 


mm f« 


nothing | 


and 


suffered 


| much. 





r- Y Y I ?* 
but we | know 

• Y Y I ?' 
we have done j 



Y Y 
You may 



?• I M-l- V 

swell I every ex- 



? 

pense, 



- Y 

ac- 



Y Y Y 
cumulate 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



73 



I- ft I* | Y Y 
every as- | sistance, 



* Y Y | Y Y 
and ex- | tend your 



Y ' Y * 

traffic 



r-YYlY'Y | I Y Y Y 
to the | shambles of | ev ery 



y . y . 

despot : 

y.y. 

ev er 

y-HY I V 

so, in- I deed, 



Y Y 



? 



Your at- | tempts will 

? I-Y1YYY I - *~ 
vain j and | impotent : | 



? Y I 
German | 

? Y ! 

be for- 

? Y 
doubly 



y. y. 

from this 



Y' II I ? Y 
mercenary aid on 



Y Y Y 


? - 


i- Y Y 


Y Y Y 


1 Y Y Y 1 


which you re- 


iy; 


for it 


irritates, 


to an in- | 



Y I 



Y 



curable re- sentment, 



adversaries, 

Y*l I I 
mercenary 



y. y. - y | y | y 

the j minds of your 

I I I I Y Y I I 
to over- run them with the 



? Y I Y Y Y 



Y Y H - Y 

sons of j rapine and plunder, | de- 



y.y. 

voting 



? 
them 



Y 



Y 



and their pos- | sessions 



y. y. 



to the ra- | pacity of 



y. y. 



Y'lY 



hireling cruelty. | m r» 



Y'M y I Y * 
But, my j lords, 



i- I Y' I Y I ? 
] who is the I man, 



YYY YYMY YY 



that in ad- dition 



to the dis- | graces and 



G 



Y Y Y 



74 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Y Y I I 
mischiefs of the | war, 



• Y Y 
and as- 



Y j ? Y 
has j dared to 



Yll 1 1 


?• 


- Y 


sociate to our 


arms, 


the 



Y Y Y 
authorize 



Y I Y' 
tomahawk 



Y 

and 



? I I 
call into 



V Y' 1 ? I I I Y # Y' 
scalping j knife of the | savage I — 

I- I* f I; 

civilized al- 



Y Y 
liance, 



Y 
to 



Y 
the 



Y* I Y 
wild and in- 



Y Y Y 
human in- 



I I Y I I 
habitants of the 



Y 



Y 



to [ delegate to the 



Y* I Y 
fence of dis- 



Y Y Y 
merciless 



Y Y Y 
lndi an, 



Y'Y' 


? - 


** Y Y 


puted 


rights, 


and to 



I- [• I* I; 


Y* 1 


Y 






horrors of his 


barbarous 


war 


a- | 



?• - 

woods ? 

' m Y Y 
the de- 

? Y 
wage the 



? Y 
a- | gainst our 



1 2 | - Y 


?• 


r? Y Y 


! - 1 My 


lords, 


these e 



Y* Y* 



Y'l Y I ? Y ?' 

normities | cry a- loud 

Y Y Y 2 I Y* 

punishment. p» | But, 



Y Y 
for re- 



? Y 
dress and 



Y 
my 



y. ivy Y' Y'l Y Y Y 
barbarous measure | has been de- 

Y'l I I I Y I Y I I Y I I 
only on the | principles of I policy 



?• 

lords, 



Y Y 
fended, 



Y 
this 



■ Y 

not 



Y Y 
and ne- 



THE RHYTHMICAl READER. 



75 



Y t I <• 
cessity, 



• Y 

but 



Y'l Y I Y * I Y" I Y I 



also on | those of mo- | rality ; 



Y* I Y 
" for it is 



Y Y I I 
perfectly al- 



Y Y Y 
lowable," 



Y* Y* 
says lord 



Y Y 
Suffolk, 





- Y 


?' 


? Y 


?• 1 


that | 




—"to 


use 


all the 


means | 





1 ? Y 




- Y 


Y 1 1 Y 


?• 


1 God and 


nature 


have 


put into our 


hands." 





Y Y Y 


Y\ Y* 


<" Y Y 


?' 


1 2 


I am as- 


tonish'd, 


I am 


shocked, 



Y 
to 



Y ' Y Y 
hear them a- 





1 ?' 1 - 


Y I 


s con- 


1 fessed ; | 


to 1 


1 ?< 


?• ( 1 




1 this 


house, 1 


or 1 



Y 
in 



Y'\ Y * Y • 
this I country. 



- 3 J 



Y I ? 



My | lords, 



Y 
I 



Y Y Y 
did not in- 



Y* I Y 
tend to en- 



? Y I ? ^ 
croach so | much 



Y Y Y Y Y 
on your at- | tention ; 



? Y 



j ? Y 


Y' Y" 






1 indig- 


nation — 




I | 



Y Y Y Y Y 
but 1 cannot re- 



? Y 
feel my- 



? Y 
self im- 



Y Y Y ' 
pelled to I speak. 



Y I ?* I 
My j lords, [ 



Y Y I Y Y 
we are | called up- 



Y*i Y I I* I* I* I* 
on as 1 members of this 



76 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



house, 



m Y Y 
to pro- 

yII " 

barity ! — 





?• 


as | 


as 


men, 





? Y 
test a- 



Y # Y # 
as Christians, 



Y I 



gainst such | horrible bar- 



Y 



Y 



"That God and 



• Y 

have 



YY Y 
deas of 



Y I 



Y 



put into our | hands If 



? Y 
God and 



Y # Y* 
nature 

? Y 
What i- 



Y'Y* 


- Y 


nature 


that 



Y'Y* 
no ble 



lord 



may enter- 



?• 

tain 



Y 



Y* Y* 



I I know not; 



" Y Y I ? Y I ? Y 
but I know that such de- 



Y Y Y 
testable 



Y Y Y 
principles 



Y 
are 



equally ab- 



Y Y I Y II 
and hu- | manity. 



Y Y Y Y'Y 



Y ' Y* 
horrent 



f YY 
to re- 

?' 
What ! 



1 Y Y Y 


? Y 


I sanction of 


God and 



Y'Y' 
ligion 

Y Y 
to at- 

Y'Y* 
nature 



Y Y 
to the 



Y Y Y 
massacres 



Y Y 
of the 



Y 'I Y I Y'Y' 
Indian ) scalping 



?' 
knife ! 



1 ™" p * 


f YY 


Y Y Y 


Y'Y' 1 




to the 


cannibal 


savage, | 



Y Y Y 
torturing 



Y 

and 



Y Y Y 
murdering 



Y Y I Y'Y' 
his un- I happy 



THE RHYTHMIC AX. READER. 



77 



victims ! 



r* such 



Y\ Y" 
notions 



Y Y Y 
ev er y 



I I Yll <• 



Y Y 

precept of mo- | rality, 



Y Y I I 
feeling of hu- 



Yll- 




Y Y Y 


manity, 




ev er y 



shock 

Y Y Y 
ev er y 



Y I Y I I 
sentiment of 



Y Y - 


2 


? Y 


Y* It 1 


Y Y Y 


honour. 


— r* 


These a- 


bominable 


principles, 



. y Y 
and this 



? Y I Y II I I I M* I* I* 
more a- | bominable a- | vowal of them, 



1 Y 

de- mand the 



? Y ? Y 



most de- 



Y * Y' 

cisive 



Y* Y* 
indig- 



Y ' Y ' 
nation. 



Y 
I 



? I I 

call upon I that right | reverend, 



Y* Y* 



Y Y Y 



' Y 
and 



Y* Y* 

this most 



? Y 
learned 



? 

Bench, 



Y I Y Y Y 
to vindicate 



Y Y 
the re- 



ligion of their 



?• 

God, 



■Y Y 
to sup- 



? Y 
port the 



. r r r i* y* y* 

justice of their I country. 
Y Y I Y Y 



Y 
I 



bishops 



Y* 



Y* I I I 
call upon the 



to inter- | pose the un- | sullied 



Y II I I 



sanctity of their | lawn,— 



Y - Y" I H | Y Y 
judges I 



upon the 

? Y I Yll I I 
to inter- | pose the | purity of their 
G2 



T8 



THE RHTTHMICA1 READER, 



? Y 
ermine, 



V Y * 
lordships, 

Y Y Y 
ancestors, 



- Y 


f Y* \ Y 1 


? Y 1 


Y Y !• { 


to 


save us from | this pol- 


lution. j 


" Y 1 


Y' I 1 1 


I' I* 


l- h I 


I | 


call upon the 


honour 


of your I 



Y 
to 



I- I* I" I* j Y I I I I 
reverence the j dignity of your 



Y* I Y I ? Y 
and to main- | tain your 



own. 



Y 
I 



Y' I ! I I I- I- !' I* Y 1 1 I I 

call upon the | spirit and hu- manity of my 



Y' Y* 

country, 



- Y 


Y 1 Y 1 


Y Y Y 


to 


vindicate the 


national 



Y Y Y 
character. 





i- Y Y 


? Y 


Y 1 1 1 1 


r 


I iu- 


voke the 


genius of the 



British consti- 



Y Y 
tution. 



Y Y I Y I I II 
From the | tapestry that a- 



dorns j these I walls, 



«• Y Y I ? Y 



, Y Y 
the im- 



? Y 
mortal 







? Y 1 


1 lord 




frowns with j 



Y* I Y 
ancestor 

? Y 



nation 



Y Y Y 
at the dis- 



Y* I Y 
grace of his 



!-, Y „| 



? Y 
In vain did 



? Y 
he de- 



? Y 
fend the 



Y Y 
country. 

Y # l Y 
liberty, 



N Y Y 
and es- 



Y Y 1 I I Y Y Y I Y'Y* 
tablish the re- | ligion of | Britain, 



- Y 

a- 



? Y 
gainst the 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



79 



1 I 




?• 


? 


Y 1 


1 Rome, 




: these 


worse 


than I 



Y' Y* Y Y Y 
Popish I cruelties 



■I I ll Y i Y I Y * .1 Y 
and inquisi- toriai | practices, 



r* Y Y 



? Y I ? Y 



are en- \ dured a- | mong us. 



Y 

To 



V Y I 
send forth the 



Y Y Y Y Y Y 
merciless In dian, 



Y Y Y 
thirsting for 



1 ? - 


- Y 1 ?' 




mm p» | 


1 blood ! 


a- i gainst 


whom ? — 





Y Y Y Y * Y* 



your I Protestant | brethren U 

9 y I Y' Y' 1 - Y 
waste their j country, j to 



■ Y Y 
to lay 



Y I Y I 
desolate their 



Y " Y" 
dwellings, 



Y Y I Y Y Y 



and ex- | tirpate their J race and 



? Y 



name, 



<• Y Y I ? YlYYY I Y I I Y I 
by the I aid and | instrumen- | tality of I 



? y I I- I- hi- 

these un- | governable 



Y Y Y 
savages 



Y* Y I 
no longer 



Y 



Y I Y' 



boast pre- 1 eminence 



? Y 
Spain can 



r Y Y 
in bar- 



I Y I! 
j barity. 



?« I ? Y 
She armed her- 



? Y 
self with 



Y* Y* 
bloodhounds 



i- Y Y 



Y Y Y 



to ex- I tirpate the | wretched 



Y* Y* 



80 



THE HHYTHMICAI HEADER. 



Y Y Y 



Y lY i I 



natives of | Mexico; i 



? Y I I 
ruthless, | 

- Y | ?* Y 

a- | gainst our 



? Y 
loose those 

Y Y Y 
countrymen 



? - 

we, 



Y'Y - 
brutal 

i* Y Y 
in A- 



?• 

| more 

Y # Y- 
warriors 

Y'l Y 
merica, 





Y ' 1 


Y 


- Y 


Y Y Y 




T Y Y 1 


I en- 


deared to us 


by 


ev er y 


tie 


that can | 


1 ? X 


? Y 


Y * 1 1 




- Y 


Y Y Y 1 


1 sancti- 


fy hu- 


manity. 




I 


solemnly | 



Y | \ y y. Y" 
call upon your lordships, 



Y Y Y 



Y I I 
and upon 



Y Y Y 
ev er y 



? i 

this 



1 Y • 1 Y 1 


? -~ 


- Y 


? 1 ! 1 


' 1 men in the | state, 


to 


stamp upon | 


I- I- (• I' 


Y* Y' 1 


f Y 


Y 


Y'lY 1 


infamous pro- 


cedure | 


the 


in- 


dellible | 



1 ? Y 


P Y Y 


Y Y Y 


Y* Y" 


1 stigma 


of the 


public ab- 


horrence. 



? 



Y 


I- |-l-f 


- Y 


par- 


ticularly, 


I 



1 Y" Y* 


Y Y Y 


Y Y <T 


1 prelates 


of our re- 


ligion, 



Y' 1)1 I 
call upon the 



h | y Y 
to do a- 



Y* Y I 
way this in- 



Y II 
iquity ; 



Y ' Y Y 
let them per- 



Y' I Y 
form a lus- 



Y Y f|-Y I Y I I- I- I Y Y £ I 
tration I to i purify the | country | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



81 



from this | deep 

Rather slow. 



Y I ? Y 
and I deadly 



? - 
sin. 



- Y 


?' 


i- Y Y 


? Y 1 


? - 


My 


lords- 


1 am 


old and 


weak, 



i- Y Y 
and at 



|Yl 1 Y 


? - 




1 able to say 


more ; 





r- Y Y 
but my 



Y* Y* 



I Y i 
to have al- 

Y Y Y 



Y YY 


Y Y «• 


were 1 


and indig- 


nation 





Y * Y* 



y My 

lowed me to say 



? - 

less. 



Y 
I 



Y* 1 Y I ? 



could not have | slept this night in my [ bed, 



' Y 

nor 



Y*l Y 
even re- 



Y 



Y 



I I Y Y <~ 



posed my head upon my | pillow, 



Y 
with- 



Y Y ' 
horrence 



Y Y Y 
out giving 



Y' - 1 Y 
vent to my 



Y Y Y 
steadfast ab 



■ Y 

of 



? Y 
such e- 



? Y 
normous 



r. y Y 
and pre- 



Y Y Y 


Y Y Y 




posterous 


principles. 


3 



82 



THE RHYTHMIC AI» READER. 



THE CHAMELEON. 
MERRICK. 

Moderate. 

2 | Oft has it | been my j lotnto [ mark A | proud, 
con- j ceited, | talking j spark, h [ p* nWith | eyes | 
| r- Mtbat | hardly | serv'd at [ most | p* hTo | guard 
their | masters { 'gainst a | post; | p*Yet | round the | 
| world the | blade has | been, | p» hTo | see what- | 
| ever could be | seen: | p» ~iRe- | turning | p*from his | 
] finish'd | tour, h | Grown | ten times | pertern | than 
be- ] fore^M [ h Whatever [ word you | chance to | 
| dropn | p» nThe | traveled | fool your j mouth will | 
| stoptH | p» p* | "But, h if | my judgment | nyou'll 
al- | low— h | nl've | seen — | p» Hand | sure I | 
| ought to | know" — h | p» hSo | begs you'd | pay a | 
| due sub- | mission, p* |"nAnd acqui- | esce in | his 
de- | cision. h [ p* p* | p*Two | travellers | nof such 
a | cast, | p* hAs | o'er A- | rabia's | wilds they | 
| pass'd h | h And | on their | way, h in | friendly J 
| chat, p* | hNow | talk'd of | this^and | then of j 
j that, h | r* nDis- | cours'da- | whiles | n'mongst | 
| other matter, | r» Of the cha- | meleon's | form and | 
| nature. | r-p* | p-m"A | stranger | animal," j 
| p- cries | one, p* | "Sure | never | lived be- | neath 
the | sun !m | p- h A | lizard's | body, p- | lean and | 
| long, | r* p»A | fish's | head na | serpent's | tongue, | 
| p» nits | foot with [ triple | claw dis- | joined;) 
| r- nAnd j what a | length of | tale be- | hind !h | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



83 



J p»How | slow its | pace!n | p* *iAnd | then its | 
| hue — h | p» Who- | ever | saw so j fine a | blue ?" ~\ | 

Rather fast. 

| "Hold there," | p* ~tthe \ other | quick re- | plies, [ 
| p* *i"'Tis J green — | p* mI | saw it [ with these | 
eyes, [ r* mAs | late with | open j mouth it J lay,**i | 
| r*nAnd | warm'd it J r-in the | sunny | ray ; «*i | 
I p* p* | Stretch'd at its J ease the | beast I view'd, | 
| r* **iAnd | saw it [ eat the I air for J food." j p»'I've J 
| seen it J friend, } **ias well as | you | p- ^iAnd | 
| musta- | gainaf- | firm it | blue, h | p» nAt [ leisure | 
| I the | beast sup- | vey'd, | p» *iEx- | tended | p*in 
the | cooling [ shade." | p»**i"'Tis | green, 'tis \ 

With energy 

| green, h j I can as- | sure ye." | p* p» | " Green !" | 
( p* p- | crier the | other in a | fury — | p» | " Why, m | 
| p*do you | think I've | lost my | eyes ?" | p* p» | 

Moderate. 

| "'Twere no | great loss," | p* *ithe | friend re- | 
J plies, | p- nFor | if they | always j serve you | 
| thus*i { p- You'll | find them | but of little | use." \ 
j e hSo I high at | last the | contest | rose, | p» *»tFrom ] 
| words they | almost | came to | blows : | p» When | 
| luckily | came by a | third — m | p» mTo j him the | 
| question | r-they re- | ferr'd ; p» | p* ^And | begg'd 
he'd | tell them, | p- if he | knew, m ] Whether the | 
j thing was [ green or | blue, h \ p* p» | " Come," *i | 
| cries the | umpire, | p» p* | " cease your | pother, p* | 
\ p* ^The | creature's | neither | one nor | t'other. r» | 
| p-hI | caught the | animal j Hlast | night, h | 
1 p»«*iAnd ) view'd it | o'er by | candle | light :m j 



84 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



| i- m1 | marked it | well— m | p» ^'Twas | black as | 
| j t »t — h | i* r* | r» i» | hYou | stare m | but I have | 
| got it ^ | yet, r* | And can pro- | duce it." r- | p» p- | 
| *< Pray then | do : p- | p- nFor | I am | sure the | 
| thing is j blue."n | p» H " And | I'll en- | gage 
that | when you've | seen The | reptile, p» | You'll 
pro- | nounce him | green." h | p* p» | " Well then, | 
| r* ^iat | once to | ease the | doubt, w h | p» mRc- | 
| plies the | man, m | r» h" I'll | turn him | out :m | 
| p* h And | when be- | fore your ] eyes Pve | set him, | 
| p» p- | If you dont | find him | black, m | p* mI'11 [ 
| eat him." | p* p- J r* nHe ] said ; h | p-then | full 
be- | fore their | sight Pro- | duc'd the | beast, h | 
| p» Mand | lo — m | p* <*i 'twas | white! h | p* p* | p» p* | 
| r- p* | p* p. | Both | stared : | p* ^ithe | man look'd | 
| wondrous | wise — h | p* *i '* My | children," | r-the 
cha- | meleon | cries, m | p*(Then | first the | crea- 
ture j found a [ tongue,) m | p* You | all are | right, 
and | all are | wrong ;m j p*When | next you | talk of | 
| what you j view, h | j^Think | others | see as J well 
as | you :m | p*Nor | wonder | p- if you | find that | 
| none | p* ^tPre | fers | your | eye-sight | p»to his | 
| own." | p. p. [ pi c | 

THANATOPSIS. 
W. C. BRYANT. 

Moderate. 

3 | -To | him | p. who, | p*in the | love of | nature, [ 
| - r» | holds Com- | munion | P-with her | visible | 
J forms, | -she | speaks A | various | language : | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



85 



| -a I r*for his | gayer | hours r* | She has a | voice 
of | gladness, | r*and a \ smile And | eloquence of | 
J beauty | — r* | p*and she | glides | Into his | 
| darker | musings, | r*with a | mild And | gentle j 
J sympathy, J —that | steals a- | way Their | sharp- 
ness, | — p- | ere | he is a- 1 ware. | — p» | *k r* | 

Rather sloiv. 

| — When | thoughts Of the | last [ bitter | hour j — r* | 
| come like a | blight | Over thy | spirit, | —and | sad | 
| images | -Of the | stern j agony, | —and | shroud, | 
| —and | pall, | —And | breathless | darkness, | —and 
the | narrow | house, | — r* | Make thee to | shudder, r» | 
| r^and grow | sick at [ heart, | r-Go | forth [ under 
the | open | sky, | —and | list To j nature's | teach- 
ings, [ — r* | while from | all a- | round — | — p. | 
| Earth j r» and her | waters, r- | r* and the j depths of | 

Slow, 

I air, — | — r- | Comes a | still | voice — | — r» | Yet 
a | few | days, [ —and | thee The | all be- [ holding | 
| sun | —shall j see no | more | — In | all his | course; | 
| —nor [ yet in the | cold | ground, | — r» J Where 
thy | pale | form was | laid, | —with [ many | tears, | 
j — r* | Nor | in the em- | brace of | ocean | r- shall 
ex- | ist | -Thy | image. | - r- | - p- | Earth, | 
| —that | nourished | theer» | —shall | claim Thy | 
| growth, | r*to be re- | solved to | earth a- | gain ; r» J 

Rather slow. Moderate, 

| — r* | And, r» | lost each [ human [ trace, | — sur- | 
| rendering | up Thine | indi- | vidual | being, | — p» j 

Sloic. 

| shalt thou | go | —To j mix for- | ever | Mwith the [ 

H 



86 



THE RHYTHMIC All "READER. 



I elements, | - r* | r-To be a \ brother | to the in- | 
| sensible | rock r* | And to the | sluggish | clod | 
| f which the | rude | swain | - r* | Turns | with his | 
| share, | -and | treads up- | on. r- [ - r- | -The | 
| oak shall | send his | roots a- | broad j —and | pierce 

Rather slow. 

thy | mould. | - r* | r- # Yet | not j to thy e- J ternal | 
| resting | place r* | Shalt thou re- | tire a- | lone — J 
| - <- | nor | couldst thou j wish r* | Couch [ more 
mag- | nificent. J - r* | Thou shalt lie | down With | 
J patriarchs | r*of the | infant j world — | -with [ 
| kings, | —The { powerful ] r* of the | earth — | — the j 
j wise, | —the | good, J — r» | Fair j forms, { —and | 
| hoary | seers of j ages | past, | — r» | All | — in | one | 
J mighty | sepulchre. | — ^ { — The [ hills | Rock-rib- 
bed | —and J ancient j r*»as the j sun, — r» j —the [ 
| vales | Stretching in | pensive | quietnessbe- | tween; | 
j —The | venerable J woods — | — r» | rivers that | 
| move In j majesty, j r» | and the com- | plaining | 
| brooks That | make the j meadows J green ; | — r» | 
| and, p» | poured | round | all, | — r* | Old j ocean's ] 
| gray and | melancholy | waste, | — r* j Are but the | 
| solemn deco | rations | all | r* Of the | great ] tomb of | 
J man. | « p- | -The j gloden j sun, r» | -The j pla- 
nets, ] — r* | all the { infinite | host of | heaven, | 
| r-Are | sinning | r-onthe | sad a- | bodes of | death, | 
I r» Through the | still [ lapse of | ages. | - r» | All 
that | tread the | globe | are but a | handful | t* to the | 
| tribes | -That | slumber in its | bosom. | - [ 
| Take the | wings Of | morning, | r-and the | Barcan | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



87 



j desert [ pierce, r-» | r- Or | lose thy- | self | in the con- | 
| tinuous | woods | p. Where | rolls the | Oregon, | —and | 
1 hears | no | sound, | — p- | Save his | own | dash- 
ings — | — r» | Yetp* | —the | dead are | there p» | 

Moderate. 

[ —And | millions | in those | solitudes, | —since | 

Rather slow. 

| first The | flight of | years be- | gan, p* | —have [ laid 
them J down | p-In their | last | sleep — p* | —the J 
| dead f reign | there | — a- | lone. | — p» | — i* | So 
shalt | thou | rest — | — p* | —and | what if | thou 
shalt | fall ] — Un- | noticed | p»by the | living, j 
| —and | no | friend | r-Take | note | of thy de- | par- 
ture? | — p* | All that j breathe ( — Will | share thy | des- 
tiny, pi | — p» | —The | gay will | laugh | —When | 
I thou art | gone, | —the ] solemn j brood of | carep» | 
j Plod ] on, p* | — and | each one, | p- as be- j fore, | 
| — will | chase His | favourite | phantom ; \ — p» | 
| Yet r- | all | these | -shall | leave Their | mirth | 
| and their em- | ployments, | p*and shall | come, | 
| —And | make their | bed with | thee, p* j — p» | 
1 p* As the | long | train Of | ages | glides a- | way, p* | 
| —the | sons of | men, p* | —The | youth in | life's | 
J green [ spring, | —and | he who | goes | In the | full | 
| strength of | years, | — p» j matron, j —and | maid, | 
| —The | bowed with [ age, p» | — the | infant | p*in 
the | smiles And j beauty of its | innocent | age f 
| p*cut | off, p* | —Shall, | one by | one, [ — be j gather- 
ed | to thy | side, | -By | those | who p. | — in | their | 

Slow. 

j turn | -shall | follow them, j - p- | - p* | p*So | 



88 THE RHYTHMIC AI» READ ER. 

| live, | -that | when thy | summons | comes | -to J 
| join The in- | numerable | caravan, | -that | moves | 
| p*To the J pale | realms of | shade, | -where | each 
shall | take His | chamber | p-in the | silent | halls of | 
| death, | -Thou | go not | p-like the | quarry | slave 
at | night, J - p» | scourged | p-to his | dungeon, | 
| - i~ | t* but; sus- | tained | -and | soothed | By an 
un- | faltering | trust, [ »ap- | proach thy | grave, | 
| -Like | one who | wraps the | drapery of his { couch 
A- | bout him, | —and | lies | down | -to | pleasant | 
| dreams. | — p» | — p» | — p» | 

HYMN TO THE DEITY ON A REVIEW OF THE SEASONS. 
THOMSON. 

SloiD. 

3 ] These, | r* as they | change, | — p* | Al~ | 
| mighty | Father, | — p* | these | Are but the | 
| varied | God. p* | — p* | —The | rolling | year | — Is | 
| full of | Thee. p» | — r» | Forth in the | pleasing | 
| Spring | —Thy | beauty | walks, | —Thy | tender- 

Moderate, with animation. 

ness | —and | love, p. | — p» | Wide | flush the | fields; j 
| —the | softening | air is | balm ; | — p* | Echo the | 
| mountains | round; | — the | forest | smiles; | — And | 
| every | sense, | -and | every | heart | — is | joy. | 

Rather slow 

| — p* | — p» | Then | comes Thy | glory | p*in the | 
| Summer | months, | —with | light and | heat re- | 
| fulgent. | - p* | Then Thy | sun | shoots | full per- | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



89 



Slow. 

I fection p- | through the | swelling j year ; e | — And | 
| oft Thy I Voice in | dreadful | thunders | speaks ; ~\ | 
| —And | oft at | dawn, f | deep | noon, | —or | falling | 
| eve, | —By | brooks and \ groves, | —in | hollow | 

Rathe?' slow. 

| whispering j gales. | — p* | —Thy ] bounty | shines 
in | Autumn | uncon- I fined, | — And | spreads a j com- 
mon | feast | —for | all that | live, p- | — t* \ —In | 
J Winter p- | awful j Thou ! r> | —with | clouds and | 
| storms A- | round Thee | thrown, j — p* | tempest 
o'er | tempest ] rolled, | —Ma- | jestic j darkness! J 
J m p» j p-on the [ whirlwind's | wing, j Riding sub- | 
| lime, | — Thou | bids't the | world a- | dore : r- f 
j — And j humblest | Nature | p-with Thy | northern | 
| blast. | — p* | — Mys- | terious | round f j — p*>| what J 
| skill, | what | force di- 1 vine, | Deep | felt, | — in j these 
ap- 1 pear! p* | — a | simple | train, p*| — Yet | so de- 1 light- 
ful | mixed, | —with | such [ kind | art, | ■— r— | Such | 
| beauty | p* and be- | nificence | — com- | bined ; \ 
j — p* j Shade, | unper- | ceived, | p*so | softening J 
| p- into | shade, | — And I all | so [ forming | p-an har- { 
| monious | whole, | — r* ] That as they [ still sue- J 
| ceed, | —they | ravish | still, p- | — p* | —But | wan- 
dering | oft, | —with | brute un- | conscious | gaze, | 
| — p* | Man p» | marks not | Thee, ] — p- | marks 
not the j mighty | hand, | —That J ever | busy, p» { 
| wheels the | silent I spheres, j — p* | Works in the J 
J secret | deep, | — r- | shoots, | steaming, | thence } 
| —The | fair pro- | fusion | p» that o'er- ( spreads the j 

2H 



90 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER* 



| Spring ; | - r- | Flings from the | sun <li- | rect the | 
j flaming | dayjr-' | - f | Feeds | every | creature; [ 
| - r- | hurls the | tempest | forth; | — r» | And, as on | 
| earth this | grateful | change re- | volves, ] —With | 
| transport | touches I all the | springs of | life, p» \ 
| - p. | - | Nature, | «■ at- j tend ! | — p* | join | 
| every | living [ soul, I —Be- ] neath the | spacious | 
| temple of the | sky, r» j —In | ado- | ration [join, | 
| —and | ardent | raise | p»One | general j song ! | 
| — r- [ —To | Him, | —ye | vocal | gales, | — r* | 
| Breathe | soft, | — whose | spirit ] p»in your | fresh- 
ness | breathes: | — p* | 0, | talk of | Him in | solitary | 
| glooms! | — p» | Where, r» [ o'er the | rock, p» the] 
| scarcely | waving J pine | — r- j Fills the | brown | 
| shade | — r» | with a re- j ligious | awe. p* [ — p- | 
| —And | ye, whose | bolder | note is | heard a- | far, r* | 
| «Wlio | shake the as- | tonished | world, | — p- | lift | 
| high to | heaven | p-Theim- | petuous J song, | —and | 
| say | -from | whom you | rage. | — r* | —His | 
| praise | -ye | brooks, at- 1 tune, p. | -ye J trembling | 
| rills, | -And 1 let me | catch it J r* as I J muse a- | 
| long, p* | - p- | - Ye | headlong | torrents, r- | rapid | 
| p-and pro- | found; | -Ye | softer | floods, J -that | 
| lead the | humid | maze A- ( long the | vale, | -and | 
| thou, ma- | jestic | main, | -A | secret | world of] 
| wonders | p-inthy- | self, | - p. | Sound | His stu- j 
| pendous | praise, | -whose | greater | voice, | -Or | 
| bids you | roar, | -or | bids your | roarings | fall. | 
| - r- | - p. | Soft | roll your | incense, | - r» | 
| herbs, | -and | fruits, | -and (flowers, | -In | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



91 



| mingled j clouds to | Him, | - whose j sun ex- | alts, | 
| ma Whose | breath per- 1 fumes you, | — r* | r* and whose j 
j pencil r» | paints. p*'| - ^f-f | Ye | forests | 
j bend ; | — Ye | harvests, | wave to | Him ; r» | r- | 
| Breathe your | still | song | into the | reaper's | heart, | 
[ —As | home he | goes | — be- J neath the | joyous | 
| moon, | — r* | — r» J Ye that keep | watch in j heav- 
en, | —as | earth a- j sleep Un- | conscious | lies, | 
| — ef- | fuse your | mildest | beams, | — Ye | constel- [ 
| iations, | — r- | while your | angels | strike, A- | mid 
the | spangled | sky, | —the | silver | lyre. p« j — p* j 
| — | Great | source of | day ! r- | — p» | best [ 
| image j here be- | low ^ j Of thy Cre- | ator, r* J 
j mjF*r | ever | pouring | wide, | —From | world to { 
| world, [ the | vital [ ocean | round, | — On j Nature j 
j write | — with | every [ beam | —His | praise. | — t% j 
| —Ye I thunders, | roll : | —be j hushed the | prostrate j 
j world,| ™ While | cloud to | cloud re- 1 turns the | solemn | 
j hymn. r» | — r- j Bleat out a- j fresh, ye j hills : f- j 
j — ye | mossy | rocks, Re- | tain the j sound ; J —the | 
1 broad re- | sponsive | low, | — Ye | vallies, | raise ; | 
I r* for the J Great | Shepherd [ reigns, | —And | 
j his un- | suffering | kingdom [ yet will j come. r» | 
J mm p. <| mmYe | woodlands j all, | — a- ] wake j **a [ 
J boundless | song | Burst from the j groves; | —and | 
I when the | restless | day, | —Ex- j piring, | — r* J 
| lays the | warbling [ world a- | sleep, j — r- | Sweet 
est of | birds ! [ - p* [ sweet ] Philo- | mela, } — p- j 
| charm The J listening j shades, | —and J teach the J 
| night J r*His | praise. | - r* | - r* | Ye | chief, j 



92 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| —for | whom the | whole ere- ] ation r» | smiles, [ 
| -At | once the | head, | -the ] heart, | -the | 
| tongue of | all, [ - r* | Crown the | great j hymn, r- | 
1 - r- | -In I swarming ] cities | vast, ] —As- | 
| semhled I men, [ r» to the | deep | organ | join The | 
| long re- ] sounding | voice, | — r» | oft [ breaking | 
j clear, | — At | solemn | pauses, | p» through the | 
| swelling | base ; r» | - r- | And as each | mingling | 
j flame in- j creases | each, J — In j one u- j nited j 
| ardour r» | rise to ] heaven. J — p. | mm ^ ] Or, | 
| r- if you [ rather | choose the | rural | shade, j —And ] 
[ find a | fane in J every | sacred ] grove, | — r- j 
| There let the j shepherd's j flute, | —the j virgin's j 
j ]ay, | —The | prompting | seraph, | r» and the j poet's | 
| lyre, r- J Still } sing the | God of J Seasons | r* as 
they [ roll, j — j —For J me, | — p* \ when I for- J 
| get the | darling j theme, ! — p» ] Whether the j 
| blossom | blows, [ —the ] summer | ray | Russets the J 
| plain, | —in- J spiring J autumn j gleams, ] —Or | 
| winter [ rises [ —in the ] blackening ] east, j — p* | 
j Be my | tongue j mute, j —my ] fancy [ paint no j 
| more, p* j — And, | dead to [ joy, J —for- | get my j 
[ heart to | beat ! p* ] - p» j —Should | fate com- j 
| mand me | p»to the | furthest | verge Of the [ green | 
[ earth, j —to [ distant | barbarous | climes, | — p* | 
j Rivers un- | known to | song ; | —where | first the | 
| sun | Gilds | Indian | mountains, j r-orhis [ setting j 
| beam | Flames | on the At- | lantic | isles; | -'tis | 
| nought to ] me, p» | - Since | God is | ever | present, | 
1 — p- | ever | felt | p. In the | void | waste j as in the ( 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 93 

| city | full ; r* | - And \ where | He | vital | breathes [ 
| - m | there | must be | joy. | - r- [ - | When \ 
| even at | last the | solemn | hour shall | come, j 
j —And | wing my | mystic | flight to | future | worlds, | 
| -I | cheerful | r*will o- | bey;r* | — r- | there, | 
| —with | new | powers, | —Will | rising | wonders | 
| sing : r* | — I | cannot | go r- | Where | Uni- | vEiisAii I 
| Love r» [ smiles | not a- | round, | — Sus- | taining | 
| all yon | orbs, | —and | all their | suns; | —From | 
| seeming | Evil | — r* | still e- | ducing | Good, | 
| —And | better | thence a- | gain, r- | —and | better | 
| still, ) —In | infinite pro- | gression. | — | 
j p*But I | lose my- | self in | Him, | — in | Light | 

Slow. 

| p-in- | effable ! r* | — r* | Come | then, | —ex- | 
| pressive [ Silence, | — r* | muse | r-His ] praise. | 

j tm r* | mm pm ] mm jm \ 

THE ROSE. 
COWPER. 

Moderate. 

3 1 —The | rose had been | washed, r«| just | wash'd in a | 
| shower, r* | « Which | Mary to | Anna con- | vey 5 d; r* j 
[ —The | plentiful | moisture en- | cumber'd the | 
| flower, t* J -And | weighed | down its | beautiful | 
| head, r- | -The | cup was all | filled | r-and the | 
| leaves were all | wet, r* | —And it ( seemed to a | fan- 
ciful | viewr- | -To | weep for the j buds it had | 
| left with re- | gret, r* | p*On the | flourishing: I 1 



94 THIS RHYTHMICAL READER. 

where it | grew, m J -I I hastily | seiz'd it | -un- | 
| fit as it | wasr- I r-Fora | nosegay, ] -so | dripping 
and | drowned; | -And | swinging it | rudely, r* | 
| r-too | rudely, a- | las ! r* | — I | snapped it — | —it | 
| fell to the | ground. | - i* | -And | such, I ex- | 
| claim'd, | is the | pitiless | part r*> | Some | act by the | 
| delicate | mind ; | —Re- | gardless of | wringing and | 
] breaking a | heart, | r*Al- | ready to | sorrow re- | 
| signed. | - tm | —This j elegant | rose, | r*had I | 
| shaken it | less, r* j r* Might have | bloomed with its | 
| owner a- | while : J r*»And the | tear that is | wip'd 
with a | little ad- j dress, r* | r* May be ] followed, j 
| —per- | haps, n* j r*by a | smile. | — r- | — r* | — r* \ 

THE MILLENNIUM. 
COWPER. 

Moderate. 

3 | Sweet is the | harp of | prophecy; r» | — r» j too 
sweet | Not to be | wronged | by a mere | mortal | touch; r* | 
| — r- 1 Nor can the | wonders it re- 1 cords | — be | sung To | 
| meaner | music, | r»and not | suffer r- (loss, r* \ — r* | 
| -But | when a j poet, | p»or when | one like | 
J me, p. | Happy to | rove a- | mongpo- | etic | flowers, | 
| -Though | poor in | skill to | rear them, | - r* j 
| lights at | last | -On | some | fair | theme, | -some j 
| theme di- | vinely | fair, | - r- | Such is the | impulse I 
| p-and the | spur he | feels | —To | give it | praise | 
I -pro- | portioned | ^to its | worth, | -That | not 
to at- | tempt it, | - r- | arduous | r-ashe | deems the | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



95 



I labour, p» | r* were a | task | more | arduous | still. — p» [ 

Rather sloW> 

| - r» | - r» ] | scenes sur- j passing | fabler | 
| p. and | yet | true, — p* j « p. | Scenes of ac- | com- 
plish'd | bliss ! p* | which r? | who can | see, p» | 
| Though but in | distant | prospect, | p»and not | feel 
His J soul re- | fresh'd | — with j foretaste | p-of the | 
| joy ? | — p- | Rivers of j gladness | water | all the | 
| earth, i~ \ — And | clothe all | climes w ith | beau- 
ty ; p» | r*the re- | proach Of | barrenness is | past, r* | 
| —The | fruitful | field | Laughs with a- 1 bundance ; p» | 
| p*and the | land, | p*once | lean, | —Or | fertile j 
| only p* | p- in its | own dis- | grace, p* | — Ex- | ults 
to | see its [ thirstly | curse re- 1 pealM. | — p» J — The | 
| various | seasons | woven into j one, p» | —And | that 
one | season | p»an e- | ternal | spring, | —The | gar- 
den j fears no | blight, p» | —and | needs no | fence, p» | 
| - p. | For there is | none to J covet, p» | — p* | all | 
| —are | full. | r m p» | —The | lion, p- | p*and the | 
| libbard, | «» and the j bear, p* J ■— r— , | Graze with the 
| fearless j flocks ; p* ] — p- | all | bask at | noon To- | 
| gether, p. | -or | all j gambol in the | shade | p-Of 
the | same | grove, | —and | drink one | common | 
| stream. | — p» | —An- | tipathies | —are | none, p* | 
| — p» | No | foe to | man p* j Lurks in the | serpent | 
| now : p* | —the | mother | sees, | —And | smiles to j 
| see, p- | -her | infant's [ playful I hand | Stretch'd | 
| forth to | dally p- | p» with the ] crested | worm, | - To | 
| stroke his | azure | neck, p» | — r* | or to re- | ceive 
The | lambent | homage | p* of his | arrowy | tongue. | 



96 



THE RHYTHMIC At READER. 



I wm r* | All j creatures | worship [ man, r* | —and | 
| all man- | kind J — r— f One | Lord, | - r» | one | 
| Father. | - r- | - r- | Errors | has no [ place ; r- | 
! - ,« | r-That | creeping! pestilence | — is | driven a- | 
| way ; r- | —The | breath of | heaven has | chased it. | 
| — W J r»In the | heart | .-No | passion | touches a 
dis- | cordant | string ; | -But 1 all is [ harmony j 
j -and | love, r- | -Dis- |ease | — Is | not : r- | —the | 
| pure and | uncon- | taminate | blood r- | Holds its | 
| due | course, | — nor | fears the | frost of | age. | — r* | 
j p»One | song em- | ploys | all ] nations; [ — and | 
| all | cry, r- | " Worthy the | Lamb, | — for | he was ( 
| slain for [ us !V r* | — r- | — The | dwellers in the | 
| vales | p*and on the | rocks | — r» | Shout to each | 
| other, r* | p-»and the | mountain | topsr* | — From | 
| distant | mountains j catch the | flying [ joy ; j — p- | 
| Till, r* j nation | after [ nation | taught the | strain, | 
l-i-l Earth j rolls the | rapturous Ho- | sannar- | 
j round, j — r- J —Be- j hold the j measure of the J 
| promise \ SUM ! | - e- | WSee | Salem | built, | -the | 
| labours | i~of a | God ! j . — | — p» ] Bright as a | 
| sun Hthe | sacred | city | shines ; [ - All | kingdoms | 
J r-and all [ princes of the | earth r- | Flock to that | 
| light : r- | -the | glory of | all | lands | r- Flows | 
| into her; | -un- | bounded [ r-is her | joy, [ —And | 
j endless | her in- | crease — | -Thy | rams are | 
| there, Ne- 1 bajoth, r- | {• and the | flocks of | Kedar* i* | 

Nebajoth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of the 
Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably 
considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 97 

J there ;p* | -The | looms of | Ormus, j r*and the | 
| mines of | Ind, p- | —And | Saba's | spicy | groves, | 
j -pay | tribute | there, r* | r* j Praise | is in | all 
her J gates : n» [ —up- | on her ] walls, | —And | in 
her | streets, J —and | in her | spacious | courts, | — Is | 
| heard | —sal- | vation. p- | — p* | Eastern J Java | 
| there p- | Kneels ] p*with the J native | r*ofthe | far- 
thest | west ; p- | —And J JEthi- | opia | spreads a- | 
| broad the | hand, | —And I worships. | — r» J p»Her 
re- | port has | travell'd | forth p* | p»Into | all | lands. | 
j —From | every | clime they | come To | see thy J 
| beauty, p* | r»and to | share thy | joy, \ O | Sion ! p* | 
| r-an as- | sembly | p-such as | earth | p^Saw | ne- 
ver,^ | p*such as J heaven | stoops | down | —to | 
| see. p- | — r» | — p* | — r* | 

APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT. 
MILTON. 

Slow. 

3 | Hail, | holy | Light, r» | — r* | oflFspring of | hea- 
ven, | first | born, [ — r» J Or | of the E- j ternal | 
j — p» | co-e- | ternal | beam, | — p* | May I ex- | press 
theep- | un- | blamed? j — r* | since p» [ God is | 
J light, p- | —And | never | p* but in | unap-| proached J 
j light r- | Dwelt from e- | ternity, | - p* | dweltj J 
| then in | thee, p- | — p» | Bright j effluence | —of j 
| bright | essence ( incre- | ate. p» | — p» | p» Or j hear'st 
thou | rather h | — p* | pure e- J thereal j stream, p» | 
| - Whose | fountain | w r ho shall j tell ?r» { 



98 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| - i~ | -Be- | fore the | sun, r« | —Be- | fore the f 
| heavens | thou | wert, r» I — i* | and at the ] voice Of | 
| God, r* I as with a | mantle, f | r*didstin- | vest The [ 
| rising | world of { waters | — r* j dark | —and | 
| deep, r» | — r* | Won from the | void | —and | form- 
less | infinite. | - i« | — r 1 Thee I re- | visit r* [ 
| now r* | — with | bolder | wing, r» | — Es- j caped the | 
| Stygian J pool, r» \ —though f long de- | tained In 1 
| thatob- ] scureso- | journ | — r« j while r* | r-inmy | 
J flights 1 —Through j utter r» | and through | mid- 
dle | darkness | borne, } —With | other j notes r- | 
| than to the Or- | phean | ]yren» | — I [ sung of j 
[ chaos [ r*and e- | ternal J night, r— | — ■ r— j Taught by 
the | heavenly | muse | — to | venture | down | —The | 
j dark de- \ scent, r* j —and | up to j re-as | cend, r* | 
| —Though | hard | —and j rare > | « | thee I 
re- | visit r» ) safe, r» | —And | feel thy | sovereign | 
| vital | lamp; r* | — ^ | —but | thou j —Re- | visit'st 
| not | these | eyes, j ®*that J roll in | vain ^To j 
| find thy | piercing | ray, r- | —and | find | no | 
| dawn ; r» | — n» | So ] thick a | drop se- ] rene | 
| —hath ] quenched their J orbs [ — r* | —Or | dim 
suf- | fusion | veiled. r» j - jm | - i~ | Yet h not the | 
| more \ Cease I to | wander r* | where the | Muses | 
| haunt, f | Clear j spring, | — or | shady ] grove, r» | 
| -or | sunny | hill, v j - ^ | Smit with the | love of | 
I sacred | song ; | - ^ | -but | chief r- | Thee, r- J 
| Sion, r» | p. and the | flowery | brooks be- | neath, | 
| -That | wash thy | hallowed | feet, and | warbling { 
I flow,ni \ - m J Nightly | — 1 1 visitor* | - m I i-nor | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



99 



{ sometimes | —for- | get r» | Those | other | twop» | 
| equalled with | me in | fate, p* | — p* | So were J I 
J equalled with ] them in re- | nown, p» | p» J Blind 
[ Thamyris J —and | blind Mae-| onides, | p*AndTy- | 
| resias and [ Phineas, J — r— | prophets | old : p» | 
J mm | Then p* [ feed on [ thoughts p* | —that | volun- 
tary | move Har- J monious | numbers ; p* J p*as the j 
| wakeful | bird p* ] Sings J darkling, | p»and in j 
[ shadiest | covert | hidp* | Tunes her noc- j turnal ] 
[ notes, p* | ''mm r- J — p. 'J Thus with the ] year p» 
j Seasons re- { turn, p» | —but [ not to | ms re- ] turns ] 
{ Day, r* | p*or the | sweet ap- J proach of J even ] 
J — or j morn, [ — p» | p»Or 1 sight of | vernal] 
J bloom, p» | — or j summer's J rose, r* } — Or ] 
[ flocks, p» { — or | herds, p* [ — or { human j face di- ] 
| vine; | — p. ] —But | cloud in- j stead, p» J —and ] 
{ ever- j during | dark p* | — Sur- [ rounds me, | — p» ] 
[ p» from the [ cheerful | ways of | men p» j Cut p* | off, p* { 
j — p» [ and for the j book of j knowledge ] fairp* | 
{ -Pre- [ sented [ r* with a [ Mil- j versal ( blank Of J 
| Nature's | works p» | — to [ me p* ( — ex- | punged ] 
j —and ] rased | —and [ wisdom { —at | one | en- 
trance, | — p« | quite shut | out. p* j — p* | — p- | So 
much the [ rather | thou, ] -ce- [ lestial | Light, p» \ 
| Shine j inward | — p* | p- and the | mind | —through { 
[ all her [ powers [ — Ir- ] radiate; there | 

| plant j eyes, | - p» [ all { mist from [ thence p» | 
| Purge j p- and dis- ] perse, p* | - p» | that I may j 
j seep- | -and [ tell p- J — Of j things in- | visible | 
[ -to j mortal ] sight, p* \ - p» | — p* | 



100 THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



HAPPY FREEDOM OF THE MAN WHOM GRACE MAKES 

FREE. 

COWPER. 

Moderate. 

3 | He is the | freeman, r» | whom the | truth makes j 
| free, r» | —And j all are | slaves be- 1 side. r» J — J 
[There's not a | chain, J —That} hellish | foes, j 
| —con- J federate | for his | harm, | — Can | wind a- | 
| round him, | r*but he ] casts it | off J r^With as \ 
\ much I ease | —as J Samson \ his green | withes, r* j 
J —He J looks a- | broad j into the | varied [ field Of j 
| nature, | r*and though | poor, per- | haps, Mcora- I 
| pared With | those whose | mansions | glitter in his | 
J sight, r* | Calls the de- | lightful | scenery | all his | 
| own. j — i~ | His are the | mountains, | r-and the j 
| valleys | his, r* | And the re- | splendant | rivers : | 
| — p» | his to en- J joy r» | With a pro- | priety that j 
| none can ] feel, | —But | who, nwith | filial | confi- 
dence in- | spired, | —Can | lift to | heaven nan | un- 
pre- | sumptuous | eye, | —And | smiling | say — r» | 
| -«My [ Father | made them | all !' | - r» | Are they 
not | his | by a pe- | culiar | right, r* | And by an | 
| emphasis of | interest | his, | -Whose | eye they | 
| fill with | tears of | holy | joy, [ - Whose | heart with J 
| praise, | -and | whose ex- | alted | mind | -With ( 
| worthy | thoughts of | that un- | wearied | love, | 
| -That | plann'd | -and | built, | -and | still up- | 



THE RHYTHMIC All READER. 



101 



| holds a | world | So , ! clothed with | beauty | p-for 
re- | bellious | man ? | - p* | Yes — p* | p-ye may | 
J fill your | garners, | — r- } ye that [ reap The | 
J loaded | soil, p- | — p* | and ye may | waste much | 
j good In | senseless | riot ; p» | p*but ye | will not I 
| find In | feast, r- | or in the | chase, p» | —in | song | 
| —or | dance, | —A | liberty like [ his, p» | who, p» { 
| unim- I peached Of | usur- | pation, p» [ r*and to | 
J no man's | wrong, | — Ap- | propriates | nature j 
| p*as his [ Father's | work, p* | And has a [ richer | 
| use of | yours | — than | you. r* f | He is in- j 
\ deed a | freeman. [ — p* | Free by j birth h Of j no 
mean ] city ; p» | — p» | plann'd or | ere the | hills 
Were | built, | — the | fountains [opened,, [ r-or the | 
j sea | —With | all his | roaring | multitude of | waves. | 
[ - (- j His { freedom | p-is the | same in | every [ 
j state ; | -And | no con- | dition of this j changeful | 
j life, hSo ( manifold in ) cares, j —Whose { every j 
| day | Brings its [ own evil | with it, p* | makes it | 
| less ; r- | - p- | For he has | wings | - that | neither { 
| sickness, | pain, Nor | | penury, | r-Can | cripple op 
con- | fine. | - p- | No | nook so j narrow f r*but he | 
j spreads them | there With J ease, p* | and is at j 
| large. [ - p* | p. The op- | pression | holds His J 
| body | bound, | -but | know not | p-what a | range 
His | spirit | takes, [ p-un- | conscious of a | chain; j 
J - p* | And that to | bind | him p- | p. is a | vain at- 

Rather sloio. Slow. 

tempt, p. | P- Whom | God de- | lights in | - p» | p. and 
in | whom he j dwells. | * p» | - p. | - p» j 

12 



102 THE RHYTHMICAL READEK, 



PROVIDENCE VINDICATED IN THE PRESENT STATE 
OF MAN, 

POPE. 

Moderate. 

3 | Heaven | from all | creatures | hides the [ book of \ 
\ fate, | — r» | All but the | page pre- 1 scribed, | their [ 
| present | state; | - | -From | brutes | p- what j 
| men, | -from | men ) r»what | spirits | know j | p. Or j 
[ who could ] suffer r» | being | here be- | low ? j — r- | 
[ —The | lamb thy | riot [ dooms to | bleed to- | day, j 
| — r* | Had he thy | reason, | r* would he | skip and [ 
[ play ? | — p» j — r» J Pleased to the 1 last, | — he j 
| crops the | flowery | food, | —And | licks the | hand [ 

Slow. 

| just | raised to j shed his | blood. ] — r* | J blind- 
ness | r»to the | future ! | — r» j kindly | given, r* j 
| —That | each may | fill the J circled | mark'd by j 
| Heaven ; | —Who | sees with J equal j eye, j — as J 
[ God of | all, | — A { hero | perish, | r»or a | sparrow j 
[ fall ; | — r- [ Atoms | — or | systems | finto | ruin J 
| hurPd, | -And | nowna I bubble | burst, | -and [ 

Moderate. 

| now | -a | world. | - i» | - r j Hope | humbly | 
| then ; r* | —with | trembling | pinions | soar ; | — | 
| Wait the | great | teachers | Deaths | -and j 
| God | -a- | dore. | - r» | - i* | What | future | bliss | 
I -he | gives not [ thee to | know, | -But| gives that | 
| hope vi to J be thy | blessing | now. p» [ - f» [ Hope | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



103 



| springs e- | ternal | r»in the | human | breast : | m & j 
J Man | never | is, | —but [ always | to be | blest. | 
| — r— i —The I soul, | —un- | easy, | r-and con- j 
| fin'd from | home, [ — r- | Rests | r-and ex- 1 patiates j 
| r*in a | life to | come, | . m p* [ r* | Lo, p* | «i the 
poor | Indian ! | whose un- J tutor' d | mind | Sees j 
| God in | clouds, | —or j hears him | p*in the | wind ; [ 
| — p. | His | vsoul j proud | science | never | taught to J 
[ stray r* | Far as the | Solar | Walk | -or | Milky j 
| Way ; p» | —Yet | simple | nature | r- to his [ hope 
has | given, p* | —Be- | hind the | cloud-top't | hill, | 
| —a | humbler | heaven; j —Some | safer [ world j 
| —in | depths of | woods em- | braced, | — Some j hap- 
pier | island J r* in the | w r atery | waste; | —Where j 
| slaves [ r*once | more | —their | native | land be- | 
| hold, | —No | fiends f — tor- | ment j «no | chris- 
tians | — p* | thirst for | gold. | — p* | —To | be, j 
| con- | tents his [ natural de- ] sire ; p-» j —He { 
| asks no | angel's | wing, [ — no | seraph's | fire : p» | 

Rather fast. 

| —But j thinks, p» | —ad- j mitted | to that j equal J 

Moderate. 

J sky, | —His [ faithful | dog | —shall j bear him | 
[ company, j — p* | — p» | Go, p- j wiser j thou ! j 
| —and j in thy j scale of | sense, j — r* | Weigh thy o- | 
| pinion ^a- | gainst | Providence ; j — p* j Call J im- 
per- | fectionr* | what thou | fanciest | such ; r» | — p- | 
| Say p* j here he | gives too | little, — j — p- | there | 
J — too J much. — r* | — | — p* | —In \ pride, j 
| —in | reasoning | pride, | — our| error | lies; j — r» | 
| All | quit their | sphere, | —and | rush | into the | 



104 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER. 



j skies. | — r» | — p* | Pride | still is | aiming | p»atthe ( 
| blest a- | bodes; | - r- | Men | p- would be | angels, | 
| - r- | angels | r- would be | gods. | - p- | -As- | 
[ piling | (-to be | gods, | — if | angels | fell, | -As- 1 piring | 
[ p. to be j angels, | — p- j men | —re- | bel : | —And | 
| who but | wishes r- | p*toin- j vert the | laws J —Of | 

Slow. 

| order, | — p* | Sins I -a- I gainst the e- | ternal | 
| cause. | — p» | — p* | — r* | 

THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH SHOW THE GLORY 
AND WISDOM OF THEIR CREATOR.— THE EARTH HAP- 
PILY ADAPTED TO THE NATURE OF MAN. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Moderate. 

3 | —The | universe | may be con- 1 sidered | p* as the I 
| palace in | which the | Deity re- j sides ; j r- and 
the | earth, | —as I one of its a- j partments. | m p. I 
| —In | this, p* I all the [ meaner j races of [ animated J 
j nature | -me- | chanically o- | bey him; | p-and 
stand | ready to | execute J ^ his com- | mands, | 
| -With- | outhesi- j tation. p. | - r» | Man a- | lone j 
| -is | found re- | fractory ; \ - p» | he is the | only [ 
| being | -en- | dued with a | power r* | ^of contra- ( 
| dieting these | mandates. | - p* | -The | Deity was | 
| pleased to ex- | ert su- | perior | powers | r-in ere- | 
| ating | him a su- | perior | being ; | -a | being en- | 
| dued with a | choice of | good and | evil; h I -and | 
| capable, | winsome | measure, | p-of co- | operating | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



105 



| p*with his | own in- | tentions. | - r* { — i — f Man, | 
| therefore, | may be con- | sidered | p-as a | limited j 
| creature, | —en- j dued with | powers r- | imitative 
of | those re- | siding in the | Deity. p» | — r» | p»Heis | 
| thrown into a | world | —that | stands in | need of his | 
J help ; | — r» I and he has been | granted a | powers | 
j p»ofpro- | ducing | harmony, | —from | partial con- | 
| fusion, r* | — p» | — p» | If, | therefore, | i*we con- | 
| sider the | earth as al-| lotted | for our habi- | tation, r- | 
| p»we shall | find | —that | much has been [ given us 
to en- | joy, p* | —and | much to a- | mend ; p» | — W | 
that we have | ample | reasons | p- for our | gratitude, | 
| —and J many p» | p*for our | industry. ] — p» | —In j 
j those great | outlines of | nature, | p- to which | art 
cannot | reach | —and | where our | greatest | efforts p» | 
| must have | been inef- | fectual, ] — p* | God him- | 
| self has | finished [ every thing | p»with a- | mazing J 
| grandeur j —and | beauty, p* | — r» ] Our be- | nefi- 
cent | Father p* | has con- | sidered | these | parts of J 
| nature | p*as pe- | culiarly his j own ; r» | —as j 
| parts | which no | creature | could have [ skill | — or | 
| strength J p*to a- | mend; | — p* | and he has, f 
| therefore, | made them in- | capable of alter- 1 ation, p» j 
| or of more \ perfect regu- | larity. r- | — p* | —The j 
| heavens | p- and the | firmament | — p» | show the j 
| wisdom | r-and the | glory | p»of the | Workman. | 
| - p- | —As- | tronomers, | p*who are | best j skilPd 
in the [ symmetry of | systems, | — can J find | no- 
thing | there p- | that they can | alter for the ] better. p» j 
| - p- | God | remade ] these | perfect, | -be- | cause | 



106 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| no sub- | ordinate | being | p^could cor- | rect their 
de- | fects.r- | - H | - r- | When, | therefore, | p-we 
sur- | vey | nature | i-on | this side, | - n* | nothing 
can | be more | splendid, | - p. | more cor- | rect, J 
| or a- | mazing. |' — r» | -We | there be- | hold a | 
| Deity | -re- | siding in the | midst of a | universe, | 
| infinitely ex- | tended j every | way, p- | animating | 
| all, | -and | cheering the va- | cuity | r-with his | 
| presence. | - p- | p-We be- | hold an im- 1 mense and | 
| shapeless J mass of | matter, r- | formed into | worlds | 
J r>by his j power, r° | r^and dis- | persed at | inter- 
vals, J r»to which | even | *nthe imagin- 1 at ion | can- 
not | travel, p* { p* | — p* J In this great | theatre of 
his | glory, [ — a | thousand J suns, | r* like our | own, | 
| « r° [ animate | r* their re- | spective | systems, | 
I ""ap- I pearing | — and j vanishing | r- at Di- [ vine 
com- | mand. | — | — ^ | ^ We be- | hold our | own j 
| bright | luminary, | — r* | fixed in the | centre of its | 
[ system, j — j~ ( wheeling its j planets in | times pro- j 
| portioned to their | distances, | r*and at | once dis- | 
I pensing | light, | heat, and | action, p* | — >• | —The | 
| earth | also is | seen | r* with its | twofold | motion ; | 
| —pro- | during, j r~by the J one, | —the | change of | 
| seasons ; | - r* j and, by the | other, r- | - the | grate- 
ful vi- 1 cissitudes of | day and | night. | - r- | With what | 
j silent mag- | nificence | -is | all | this per- [formed ! | 
I - p- | With what ( seeming | ease ! | — p» I —The [ 
| works of j art are ex- | erted r» | p*with inter- | 
| rupted | force ; | p. and their | noisy | progress | -dis- | 
| rovers the ob- | structions | r-they re- | ceive ; r» j 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



107 



j « r* J p-but the | earth, | p» with a ] silent, | steady 
ro- J tation, p* | —sue- ] cessively pre- j sents | every | 
| part of its | bosom to the | sun ;p» | —at | once im- ) 
| bibing | nourishment and | lights | p* from that | pa- 
rent of vege- | tation p* | p. and fer- | tility. p* I -» I 
| p»But not | only pro- 1 visions of [ heat and ] light are | 
J thus sup- | plied ; p* | — the | whole [ surface of the j 
| earth | — is | covered with a | transparent | atmosphere, | 
| —that J turns with its [ motion, p* | —and | guards it 
from | external | injury. r» | —The | rays of the | sun p» | 
| p*are thus | broken p» [ into a | genial | warmth; J 
| —and | while the | surface is as- 1 sisted p» | ^ a gentle | 
| heat is pro- | duced in the | bowels of the | earth, p* | 
| p» which con- | tributes to | cover it with | verdure. | 
] — p» | Waters [ also p* | p»are sup- | plied in | health- 
ful a- | bundance, | p»to sup- | port | life, | p»and as- | 
| sist vege- | tation. p» | — r» | Mountains | rise, | p*to 
di- 1 versify the | prospect, | Mand give a | current to the | 
| stream. | — p- j Seas ex- | tend from | one continent | 
| p-to the j other, p* | —re- | plenished with | animals, r- | 
| that may be | turned to | human sup- 1 port ; p* | —and | 
| also | serving to en- | rich the ] earth | p*with a suf- | 
| ficiency of | vapour. p» | — p» | Breezes | fly along the | 
| surface of the | fields, p» | nto promote | health and 
vege- | tation. p* | —The | coolness of the | evening J 
| —in- | vitesto | rest; — | r»andthe| freshness of the | 
| morning | — re- J news for | labour, p» | — p* | — p» | 
| Suchp* | are the de- | lights | p- of the habi- 1 tation r* | 
| that has been as- | signed to | man : p» | — p» | 
| p» without | any one of | these, | —he j must have 



108 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



been | wretched ; | -and | none of | these p* | could his | 
own | industry | p-have'sup- | plied, r- | — r* | -But | 
| while, r* | on the one | hand, p» | many of his | wants p» | 
| p. are thus | kindly | furnished, | —there | are, p- | 
| r»on the | other? p* | numberless | incon- 1 veniences | 
| r» to ex- | cite his | industry. | — p* | This habi- j 
| tation, p- | r* though pro- | vided with | all the con- | 
| veniences of | air, p* | pasturage, | —and | water, r* [ 
| is but a | desert | placer* j r* without | human cul- [ 
| tivation. r* \ —The { lowest J animal r- | p* finds | 
j more con- j veniences J p*in the [ wilds of ] nature, | 
| —than ] he who | boasts him- ] self their | lord. | 
| «o p» | — The | whirlwind, | —the [ inun- 1 d at ion, r* J 
| — and | all the as- | perities of the | air, r» | 
I p*are pe- j culiarly | terrible to j man, j —who ( 
| knows their [ consequences, J — r* | and, at a | dis- 
tance, [ — r- | dreads | p- their ap- | proach. | —The [ 
| earth it- | self j —where | human | art | has not per- | 
I vaded,p- | putson'a | frightful, | gloomy ap- | pear- 
ance. | — r* j —The | forests are | dark and | tangled $ | 
| —The j meadows J p* are over- j grown with | rank | 
| weeds : | r^and the | brooks | stray ~\ with j out a de- ] 
| termined j channel, p* | - r* | Nature, r* | that has 
been j kind to ] every | lower p» | order of | beings, | 
| — p- | seems to | have been neg- ] lectful r* | p»with 
re- J gatd to | him : p- | «- p» j p^tothe | savage | un- 
coil- | triving ] man, ] -the | earth | is an a- | bode | 
| p-of deso- | lation, p* J — | where his ] shelter h is J 
| insuf- | ficient, | p- and his [ food| -pre- | carious, h J 
] - H -A | world j p. thus { furnished with ad- | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



109 



| vantages on j one side, ] —and J incon- | veniences | 
J p«on the | other, p» [ p*is the | proper a- | bode of | 
j reason, | p* and the [fittest to | exercise the | industry j 
J r-of a | free | r*and a ] thinking | creature. ] — p» j 
| p» These | evils, | —which j art can | remedy, p» J 
] —and | prescience | guard a- | gainst, | p*are a) 
I proper J call r- | for the ex- 1 ertion of his | faculties j | 
J pi and they | tend | still more | p*toas j similate him J 
| r* to his Cre- | ator. r- | — p* | God be- | holds, with | 
| pleasure, | —that | being | which he has j made, ] 
J —con- | verting the | wretchedness of his | natural 
situ- | ation p* j into a | theatre of | triumph ; J — p* J 
| bringing j all the | headlong | tribes of | natures [ 
| into sub-|jection | to his | will ; p» | p»and pro- J 
| ducing that | order and uni- | formity upon | earth, J 
J — of | which h his | own | heavenly | fabric | p*is so | 
{ bright j p* an ex- j ample. p» | — p» | — p* | 

REFLECTIONS ON A FUTURE STATE, FROM A REVIEW 
OF WINTER. 

THOMSON. 

Rather slow. 

3 | -'Tis | done! p» | p* dread J winter J spreads his | 
j latest | glooms, | —And | reigns tre- } mendous J 
| p*o'er the | conquer'd | year. p» | — g* | p»How | dead 
the | vegetable | kingdom | lies ! p- | p»How ( dumb the J 
J tuneful ! | — r» | Horror | wide ex- 1 tends | —His ] 
) desolate do- | main. | — p* | —Be- 1 hold, j p»fond J 
] man!p- | —See | here | —thy | pictured j life:p» J 
j p« pass | some few | years, | - Thy j flowering | spring, | 



110 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

| -Thy | summer's | ardent | strength, | -Thy | sober 
| autumns | fading into I age, | -And | pale con- | 
j eluding | winters | comes at | last, | — And | shuts the 
| scene. | — r* | — [ Ah ! n» | r» whither | now are 
j fled | -Those | dreams of | greatness ? | — r» \ 
| those un- j solid ] hopes of j happiness ? | -those | 
j longings | after | fame ? | -Those | restless | cares ? 
| -those | busy J bustling | days? | -Those | gay- 
spent, | festive | nights ? | -those | veering | thoughts, p* \ 
{ Lost | ^between | good and | ill, | —that j shared thy | 
J life ? r» | — c | ■■ r» | All | now are I vanished ! | — r» | 
j mm p» | Virtue | sole sur- | vives, | — Im- | mortal, | 
j never- | failing [ friend of | man, r» | —His | guide to | 

Rather fast, with animation. 

\ happiness on | high, r* | —And | see ! r» J — 'Tis | 
J come, i* | —the | glorious | morn ! | —The | second j 
| birth Of | heaven and | earth ! r» | — a- J wakening | 
j nature r* | hears The j new ere- | ating | word ; r» 
J — and | starts to | life, r* | — In [ every | heightened | 
| form, | —from | pain and | deaths | —For | ever j 
| free. r» | —The { great e- | ternal | scheme, | — In- | 
| volving | all, r- ] and in a | perfect | whole | — U- | 
| niting | p»as the | prospect | wider | spreads, | —To | 
| reason's | eye re- ] fin'd | r* clears | up a- | pace. r» j 

Moderate. 

j — r» | -Ye | vainly | wise ! r» | —Ye | blind pre- J 
J sumptuous ! | - f» | now, | -Con- | founded | i*in 
the | dust, * | - a- 1 dore that | Power And | Wisdom, m | 
| oft ar- | raign'd: I - p. | -see | now the | cause | 
I -Why | unas- | suming | worth | -in | secret | liv'd, J 
| And | died neg- | lected ; | - p. | why the | good 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. Ill 

man's I share In J life p* | — was | gall, and | bitter- 
ness of | soul : | — n» | Why the | lone | widow r» | 
1 f and her | orphans r* | pin'd in | starving | solitude ; | 
| —while | luxury | — In I palaces | lay j straining 
her | low | thought, | —To j form un- | real | wants : r* | 
| —why | heaven* born | truth, | —And | moder- | ation | 
] fair, | — r* | wore the | red | marks | h Of super- j 
J stition's | scourge : | — r* | —Why | licens'd | pain, \ 
| —That | cruel | spoiler, | r» that em- | bosom'd | foe, | 
| — Im- | bitter* d | all our | bliss. r» | — r» | p»Ye | 
| gooddis- | tress'd ! I — Ye | noble | few ! r* | p»who J 
] here un- | bending | stand | —Be- | neath | life's | 
J pressure, | — r— I yet bear | up a- 1 while, | —And J 
j what your j bounded | view | —which | only | saw A | 
| little | part, | — r* | deemed | evil, r*>\ r» is no | more : | 
| — r— J —The | storms of | wintry | time | —will | 
| quickly | pass, p» | — And | one un- 1 bounded | spring | 
| —en- | circle | all. | — - | — r» | — r* \ 

NOTHING FORMED IN VAIN. 
THOMSON. 

Moderate. 

3 | —Let | no pre- | suming | impious | railern | tax 
Cre | ative | wisdom, | n*asif | aught was | form'd In | 
| vain, | —or | not for | admirable | ends, | — r» [ 
j -Shall | little, | haughty | ignorance | —pro- j 
| nounce j His | works un- | wise, | -of | which the | 
| smallest | part | -Ex- | ceeds the | narrow | vision 
of her | mind ? | - p- | - r- | -As | if, | upon a | 



112 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

| full-pro- | portion'd | dome, | »0n | swelling | 
| columns | heavM the | pride of | art, p* | — A | critic- j 
| fly, f | — whose | feeble | ray p* | scarce | spreads An | 
| inch a- | round, | —with | blind pre- | sumption | 
| bold, | — Should | dare to | tax m the | structure of the | 
| whole* | — p- | —And | lives the | man, [ —whose j 
| uni- | versal | eye | —Has | swept at | once | p»the 
un- | bounded | scheme of | things ^ I — r— J Mark'd 
their de- | pendence | so, ^and | firm ac- 1 cord, r» J 
I As with un- | faltering j accent | r*to con- | elude, | 
| -That | this a- | vaileth | nought ? | - h | -Has [ 
| any J seen The | mighty | chain of j beings, | — r— J 
| less'ning | down From \ infinite per- | fection, p» | 
| p*to the | brink Of | dreary | nothing, | — r* | deso- 
late a- j byss ! p» j —From | which as- | tonish'd | 
J thought, | -re- | coiling, J — r- [ turns ? | — p* | 

Rather slow 

{ — ■ r- | Till then | — a- | lone | —let I zealous | praise 

Slow. 

as- | cend, | — And | hymns of | holy | wonder | — to { 
[ that | power, pf | p» Whose | wisdom | shines | — as | 
| lovely | r»in our | minds, | — As | on our | smiling | 
j eyes | -his | servant | sun. p» | — p* | — p* | r» r» | 

ON PRIDE. 
POPE. 

Moderate. 

3 | -Of [ all the | causes, | p» which con- | spire to | 
| blind I Man's | erring | judgment, | r-and mis- | 
| guide the | mind, | - p* | p*What the [ weak | head j 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER. 113 



| — with | strongest { bias | rules, | —Is | pride : j —the ( 
| never- 1 failing | vice of | fools. j — n» | p» What- | ever j 
| nature | r«has in | worth de- | ny'd, | -She | gives in | 
| large re- | cruitsof | needful | pride ! | — | For, r» | 
I r* as in | bodies, | — r» | thus in | souls, | — we | find | 
| What | wants in | blood and | spirits, r* | swelPd with | 
| wind. | — p» | — r» | Pride, | — where | wit [ fails, | 
| —steps | in to | our de- | fence, | —And | fills up | 
| all the | mighty | void of | sense. | — r» | —If | once tm \ 
| right | reason | drives that | cloud a- | way, t* | 
| Truth | breaks up- | on us | r*with re- | sistless ] 
{ day. r* | — r- | Trust | not your- | self; r» j — r* | 
J but, p» | your de- | fects to | know, [ p*Make | use of | 
| every | friend, | —and | every | foe. [ — r» | — A [ 
| little j learning | r»is a j dangerous j thing; | — r» [ 
| Drink j deep, J r*ov J taste not | r*the Pi- | erian j 
| spring : J — r* | There r* | shallow | draughts | —in- j 
| toxi- | cate the | brain, | —And ] drinking J largely [ 
| »i* | sobers | us a- 1 gain. r*[ ■■ r- | — r* | Fir'd | Mat 
first | sight I -with | what the | muse im- [ parts, f 
| —In | fearless ] youth, | r-we | tempt the | heights of | 
| arts ; | — r* | While, [ r*from the | bounded | level of 
our | mind, | — r* | Short | views we | take, r* | —nor | 
| see the | lengths be- | hind ; ] —But | more ad- | 
| vanc'd, | —be- | hold, | —with | strange sur- | prise, [ 
| mm p. | New | distant | scenes | —of | endless | science | 
| rise ! | — r* | — | So, r* | pleas'd at [ first { —the j 
| towering [ Alps we [ try, r* [ — r» | Mount | o*er the j 
| vales, | — and | seem to | tread the | sky ; r» | i^The e- ( 
j ternal | snows J -ap- | pear al- | ready | past, r- { 



114 



THE RHYTHMICAL RKABEXL 



| r*And the | first | clouds and | mountains | — r» f 
| seem the | last ? m | - i* I But, p* | those at- I tain'd, | 
| -we | tremble | r-tosur- ] veyr- | -The | growing | 
| labours | r»of the | lengthened | way ; m \ r»The in- [ 
| creasing [ prospect | tires our j wandering | eyes ; | 
| — r* | Hills j peep o'er | hills, | —and | Alps j —on f 
| Alps | —a- | rise. | > vj m r» J — | 

THE MORNING IN SUMMER, 
THOMSON. 

Moderate. 

3 | -The | meek-eye'd | morn ap- | pears, | - r» J 
J mother of | dews, 1 - r* 1 —At | first | faint | gleam- 
ing J r#in the | dappled | east ; ] —Till J far o'er J 
| ethers | spreads the] widening | glow ; | — r* | And 
from be- | fore the { lustre of her | face | r* White j 
| break the | clouds a- 1 way. | — p» | — With | quickened | 
| step, r* | n Brown [ night re- 1 tires : | — r» | r- young | 
| day [ p» pours | in a- | pace, r* | —And J opens | all 
the | lawny \ prospect | wide. | — r» | —The) dripping [ 
| rock, | —the | mountain's ] misty [ top, r» | Swell | 
{ on the J sight, | —and | brighten ( r» with the | dawn. | 
J — r» | Blue, | r» through the ) dusk, | —the | smoking | 
| currents | shine ; | — p* | And from the | bladed | field | 
| —the | fearful | barer* | Limps, J awkward : | — r- | 
| while a- | long the | forest- | glade | —The | wild 
deer | trip, r» | - and | often | turning | — r» | gaze At | 
| early | passenger. | — f | ■■ r* J Music a- | wakes [ 
| -The | native | voice of | undis- | sembled | joy; | 
| -And | thick a- j round | —the [ woodland | hymns 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 115 

a- { rise- | — p* | Rous'd by the | cock, p. | — the | soon- 
clad | shepherd | leaves His | mossy | cottage, p» J 
| where with | peace he | dwells ; | — [ And from the | 
| crowded | fold, | —in | order, p» | drives His | flock 
*ito | taste the | verdure | p*of the | morn. | | — r» | 
| — p* | Falsely lux- | urious, | — p* | will not | man a- j 
j wake; | —And, j springing | p»from the | bed of | 
| sloth, | —en- | joy The | cool, | —the | fragrant, | 
| p-and the | silent | hour, J —To | medi- | tation | 
| due | —and | sacred | song ? | — p* | —For | is there | 
| aught in | sleep | —can | charm the | wise ? | — p» J 
I — To [ lie in | dead ob- | livion, | — p- | losing | half 
The | fleeting | moments | p-of too | short a | life; | 
| — p. | Total ex- | tinction | of the en- | lightened | 
j soul! | —Or | else to | feverish | vanity a- | live, [ 
j — p» | Wilder'd, | —and | tossing | p- through dis- j 
| tempered j dreams ? | — p» | — p* | — p» | Who would, 
in | such a | gloomy | state re- | main | Longer than J 
j nature | craves; | —when | every | muse | —And j 
| every | blooming | pleasure | — p» | waits with- | 
( out, p» | —To | bless the | wildly | devious | morn- 
ing | walk ?r-|-p-|-r-|-r-| 

THE PLEASURE AND BENEFIT OF AN IMPROVED AND 
WELL-DIRECTED IMAGINATION. 

AKEN&IDE. 

Rather slow. 

3 j Oh, | blest of j Heaven ! | - p» [ whom p» | not 
the J languid \ songs Of | luxury, j -the | Siren, ( 



116 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



j « p» | not the | bribes Of | sordid | wealth, J —nor j 
| all the [ gaudy | spoils | — Of I pageant | Honour, p. | 
[ r-canse- | duceto ] leave [ p- Those [ ever- [ bloom- 
ing [ sweets, | — f | which, I p-from the ] store Of | 
[ Nature, J — r* j fair im- J agin- J ation | culls, [ 
| — To ( charm j p*the en- | liven'd | soul ! | — p* [ 
| j - p. 1 r*What | though not ] all Of j mortal j off- 
spring | p-can at- | tain the j heights Of | envy'd | 
| life, r* | -though | only | few pos- | sess Pa j tri- 
cian | treasures, | p»orim- [ perial j state; p» | —Yet | 
J Nature's [ care, [ —to J all her [ children | just, | 
J —With | richer [ treasures, | r*and an j ampler | 
j state, j —En- | dows at | large [ —what- [ ever | 
J happy j man | — Will | deign to [ use them. | — p* | 
| - r* 1 His the J city's j pomp, j —The [ rural | ho- 
nour's j his : p* | — what- J e'er a- | dorns The | prince- 
ly | dome, | p*the | column, | p»and the j arch, | 
I —The | breathing | marble j p-and the | sculptur'd | 
J golt*, | —Be- j yond the | proud pos- | sessor's J nar- 
row | claim, | — p. | His | tuneful J breast en- | joys. | 
j — p* | —For I him j —the | Spring Dis- [ tils her | 
| dews, | — p. | and from the | silken j gemp» j — Its [ 
| lucid [ leaves ] -un- | folds : ] - p. [ -for | him | 
| -the | hand Of [ Autumn ] tinges | every | fertile | 
[ branch | -With | blooming | gold, | -and j blushes j 
| P-like the | morn. | - r* | - t~ | Each | passing | 
| hour | r-sheds | tribute j r-from her | wings ; j 
| -And | still r- | p- new [ beauties [ meet his | lone- 
ly | walk, | -And | loves un- j felt at- J tract him. ( 
| - p* | p-Not a | breeze | flies o'er the j meadow ; | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 117 

J p»not a j cloud im- | bibes The | setting | sun's ef- | 
j fulgence ; ( p-not a | strain I —From j all the j te- 
nants j p*of the J warbling | shade [ —As- | cends ; [ 
[ —but | whence his | bosom | p»can par- | take j 
j Fresh | pleasure | r-unre- | proved : j — i» | —nor | 
| thence par- | takes | p* Fresh | pleasure | only ; | 
| mm rm | for the at- | tentive | mind { — By | this har- | 
| monious | actions | on her | powers, | —Be- | comes 
her- | self har- | monious : | — p» j wont so | oft In | 
| outward | things | —to | meditate the | charm Of j 
I sacred | order, p» | — p* | soon she | seeks at | home, | 
( — To | find a | kindred | order ; p- | r*to ex- | ert 
With- | in her- | self p* | this | elegance of | love, m \ 
\ r^This } fair in- } spired de- J light : } - p* | — her j 
J tempered { powers Re- | fine at | length, p» | —and J 
| every | passion | wears | — A | chaster, | — r- | mild- 
er, | — p» | more at- | tractive | mien. | — p* | —But | 
{ if to | ampler [ prospects, | — p* | if to | gaze On f 
| Nature's | form, | — p* | where, p» | negligent of [ 
| all These | lesser | graces, | p»she as- | sumes the | 
| port Of | that E- | ternal | Majesty | -that [ weighed 
The | world's foun- | dations, | — p* | if to [ these j 
j —the | mind ex- | alts her | daring | eye; | — p» | 
j then p- | mightier | far | —Will | be the [ change, | 
| —and | nobler. | — p* ] — p. | Would the | forms of | 
| servile | enstom p» | cramp her | generous | powers ? | 
| mm pi | —Would | sordid | policies, j — the | barbarous j 
| growth Of | Ignorance and | Rapine, | — p» ( bow 
her | down To | tame pur- | suits, p» | — to { indolence 
and | fear ? | — p- | — r* [ Lo ! | p- she ap- | peals to j 



118 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| Nature, | r~ to the | winds | -And | rolling | waves, | 
| —the | sun's un- | weary'd | course, | —The | ele- 
ments | —and | seasons: | — p» | — | all de- | clare | 
[ —For | what the E- | ternal | Maker [ r*has or- | 
| dain'd the | powers of | man : | —we J feel with- | in 
our- J selves I —His | energy | — di- | vine : | — he | 
| tells the | heart, | -He | meant, | —he | made us | 
( r-to be- | hold and | love | —What J he be- J holds 
and | loves, | —the | general | orb Of | life and | being: | 
| mm | p. to be | great | —like j him, | —Be- J neficent j 
| —and | active, j — | — r- | Thus the J men | 
j —Whom | Nature's | works in- | struct, j —with [ 
j God him | self p* j Hold [ converse ; | — r* | grow fa- | 
| miliar, r» | day by | day, | — With | his con- 1 ceptions; f 
| — p» | act up- J on his | plan ; | —And | form to | 
[ his, | —the | relish | r» of their | souls. | — r* | — p» f 



LIBERTY AND SLAVERY CONTRASTED. PART OF A 
LETTER WRITTEN IN ITALY, BY 

ADDISON. 

Moderate. 

3 | How has | kind | Heaven | -a- | dorn'dthe j hap- 
py I land, | -And | scattered | blessings | r-with a | 
| wasteful | hand ! | - i~ | -But { what a- | vail | 
| -her | unex- | hausted | stores, | -Her | blooming | 
| mountains, | r^and her | sunny | shores, | -With | 
| all the | gifts | -that | heaven and \ earth im- | part, | 
| -The | smiles of | nature | r-and the | charms of | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



119 



art, | —While I proud op- | pression | r»in her | val 
ey | reigns, | —And | tyranny | — u- | surps her 
happy | plains ? | — r- | —The | poor in- | habitant 

— be- | holds in | vain | —The | reddening | orange, 
r*and the | swelling j grain; | — r* | joyless he 
sees | —the | growing | oils and | wines, | —And | in 

the | myrtle's j fragrant | shade re- | pines. | — r» 

— r* | Oh, | Liberty: | —thou | power su- | premely 
bright, j —Pro- | fuse of | bliss, r» j —And | preg 

nant \ r*with de- j light ! | —Per- 1 petual j pleasures 
in thy | presence | reign ; j — And | smiling | plenty r* 
leads thy | wanton | train, j — r* | EasM of her | load, 

— sub- j jection | grows more | light; | —And 
poverty | looks | cheerful | r» in thy | sight. | — 

— Thou | mak'st the | gloomy | face of | nature | gay ; 
-— i — Giv'st | beauty | r-to the I sun, r- | — and J plea 
sure | p* to the | day. | — r* | — r«» | — On | foreign 

mountains, | may the | sun re- 1 fine | —The | grape's 
soft | juice, | —and j mellow | it to wine; | —With 
citron | groves | — a- | dorn a | distant | soil, 
r* And the ) fat [ olive | swell with ] floods of ] oil : 

— n* | — We J envy J not the | warmer J clime, 
r»that | lies j — In j ten de- [ grees of J more in- 
dulgent [ skies ; J — r» f Nor at the | coarseness 
r*of our | heaven re- j pine, | — Tho' ] o'er our 
heads J — the J frozen j Pleiads | shine: | — 

— 'Tis J Liberty j —that J crowns Bri- j tannia's 
isle, J —And | makes her ] barren | rocks, | r*and 
her | bleak ] mountains | — p- | smile, j - r- | - j 



120 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS OFTEN ILL-DIRECTED. 
CARTER. 

Moderate. 

2 | r* -The | midnight ] moon se- | renely | smiles ] 
| c O'er | nature's | soft re- 1 pose ; | p-» • No | lowering [ 
| cloud ob- | scures the | sky, | p*- Nor | ruffling | tem- 
pest | blows. | r- p- | Now h | every J passion | sinks 
to | rest, | p**The | throbbing | heart | p-lies | still ; | 
| p»* And | varying | schemes of | life | p»no | more | 
| pa - Dis- 1 tract the | labouring | will. | p* • In | silence ) 
\ hush'd ] p»*to | reason's | voice, | p* # At- 1 tends each | 
[ mental | power : | p* p* | Come, p» | dear E- | milia, j 
| r*and en- J joy | p* • Re- 1 Section's | favourite | hour, j 
I r» p* | Come, *i | r* while the | peaceful J scene in- J 
| vites, | r* Let's | search this | ample | round ; | p» p» \ 
| r» p* | Where shall the | lovely | fleeting j form | 
| r* e Of | happiness | r- # be ] found ? | p* p- | p» r» | 
| Does it a- | midst the | frolic | mirth | r» ' Of | gay as- | 
| semblies | dwell ; | p* • Or | hide be- | neath the | 
| solemn | gloom, | p* • That | shades the J hermit's | 
| cell ? | fm p» | fm pm J p*How | oft the J laughing | 
| brow of | joy, | r- # A | sickening | heart con | ceals ! | 
[ r» r* ] f • And | through the | cloister's | deep re- ] 
| cess, | p**In- | vading | sorrow J steals. | N r» | 
| rWn | vain, | p. through | beauty, j | p. p. | fortune, | 
| p» p» [ wit, | p-- The | fugitive ] p» • we j trace; J 
1 It | dwells not | p. in the | faithless | smile, | 
1 r-- That | brightens | Clodia's | face. [ ' t»Wf 1 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



121 



J p* • Per- | haps the | joy to . | these de- 1 ni'd, | p» • The { 
j heart in | friendship j finds : .| p* c | Ah ! J dear de- 1 
J lusion, | r* p» | gay con- | ceit \ p» • Of j visionary | 
| minds ! | p» p» j r* r* | p-How | e'er our | varying | 
| notions J" rove, | p* Yet | all a- 1 gree in j one, | p» • To ] 
| place its | being | p»jn some | state, | p» • At | distance | 

Rather slow. i ■ 

| from our | own. | p» p» | | blind to | each in- | dul- 
gent J aim, J r- • Of J power su- | premely | wise, ] 
| r# # Who [ fancy | happiness | p* • in | aught | , p* • The f 
J hand of | heaven de- [ nies ! ] p* p* | p» p* | Vain is a- J 
| like the ] joy we | seek, | p» • And | vain J what we 
pos- | sess, )>• Un- | less har- | monious | reasons | 
| tunes | The | passions | r-into j peace. | r» r* | 
| To | temper' d | wishes, | p» p» | just de- | sires, J 
J p* * Is | happiness | p» • con- | fin'd ; | p» p» | And, r* | 
| deaf to | folly's | call, | p-- At- | tends | f The | 
j music | r-of the j mind. | p» p» | p* p. [ 

THE CREATION REQUIRED TO PRAISE ITS AUTHOR. 
OGIXVIE. 

Rather slow. 

2 | p. • Be- [ gin, my | soul, | p-the ex- 1 alted | lay ! ^ J 
| p-Let | each en- | raptur'd | thought o- | bey, h J 
| p» • And | praise the Al- | mighty's | name : | r» p» J 
J Lo ! | heaven and j earth, | p»* and | seas, | and J 
| skies, | p» • In | one me- J lodious | concert | rise, | 
| f To | swell the in- | spiring | theme, j |4 p» | e Ye | 
1 fields of | light, | p»* ce- | lestial | plains, J p» Where | 



122 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| gay trans- j porting | beauty | reigns, | p» • Ye | scenes 
di- | vinely | fair! | p»* Your | Maker's | wonderous j 
J power pro- | claim ; | p» p» | Tell | how he | formed 
your | shining | frame, | p**And | breathed the | fluid | 
| air. | p» p» | p*Ye | angels, | p» p» | catch the | thrill- 
ing | sound ! | p* While ! all the a- 1 doring | thrones a- J 
| round, | p- • His | boundless | mercy | sing : | p* • Let | 
| every | listening j saint a- | bove, j p* Wake | all the | 
| tuneful | soul of | love, | p» • And | touch the | sweet- 
est | string. | p* p» | Join, | p»Ye | loud | spheres, I 
| p» # the | vocal j choir ; | p» p- | Thou | dazzling | orb 
of | liquid | fire, I p* • The | mighty | chorus J aid : | 
| p» p» | Soon as gray | evening | gilds the | plain, | 
1 r» p» I Thou | moon, | p» • pro- | tract the | melting | 
j strain, | p**And | praise him | p-in the | shade. } 
| p» r» | Thou | heaven of | heavens, | p* • his | vast a- [ 
| bode ; | r» • Ye | clouds, j p* • pro- | claim your | form- 
ing | God, | p»* Who | callM | p*yon | worlds | 
| p» • from | night : | p* p» | p» • " Ye | shades | p* • dis- | 
| pel \" | tm the E- | ternal | said j | r» • At | once the in- | 
J volving | darkness | fled, | p» • And | nature | sprung to | 
J light. | p» p- | p* • What- j e'er a | blooming | world 
con- J tains, | p» • That j wings the | air, | p» • that | 
| skims the | plains, | p- • U- | nited | praise be- 1 stow : | 
| p** Ye | dragons, | r* p* | sound his | awful | name J 
j p» • To | heaven | p. • a- | loud j | p» • and | roar ac- | 
I claim, | r»« Ye | swelling | deeps be- | low. | p- p* | 
| p»- Let | every | element | re- | joice; | m a Ye J 
1 thunders, | burst | p* • with | awful | voice, | p* • To | 
| him | tmf who | bids you | roll : | p* p» | p»His | 



THE RHYTHMICAL RBADER. 



123 



| praise | in | softer | notes | r- • de- 1 clare, | r»Each 
| whispering | breeze J p» • of | yielding | air, | p» # And 
breathe it | r*to the | soul. | r- p» j p* • To | him, 
I • ye | grateful | cedars, p» | bow ; | p»» Ye | tower- 
ing | mountains, | p* p* J bending j low, | p*Your 
great Cre- | ator h | own; I p» r* | Tell, | p»when af- 
frighted | nature | shook, | p»How j Sinai | kindled 
p»at his | look, | r*» • And | trembled | p»athis | frown. 
| r» | p. Ye | flocks that | haunt the | humble | vale, 
[ p» • Ye | insects | fluttering | on the | gale, | p» • In 
mutual | concourse | rise ; | p- p» | Crop the | gay 
rose's | vermeil | bloom, [ p» • And | waft its | spoils 
| p» # a j sweet per- | fume, | p» # In | incense | p* to the 
[ skies. | p* r* | Wake j all ye | mountain | tribes, 
i» • and j sing ; j p» • Ye | plumy | warblers | p»of the 
spring, | p* • Har- | monious | anthems | raise 
r» • To | him | pp • who | shaped your | finer | mould, 
p* • Who | tipped your | glittering | wings with | gold, 
p* # And j tuned your j voice to | praise. | p» p» 
j p** Let | man, | p»* by | nobler J passions | swayed, 
[ r* # The | feeling | heart, [ p** the | judging | head, 
p» # In [ heavenly [ praise | p»* em- | ploy ; [ p- t* 
| Spread | his tre- | mendous | name a- | round, 
p»- Till | heaven's | broad | arch | p» rings | back the 
sound, | p* • The | general | burst of | joy. | p* p» 
| p*Ye | whom the | charms of | grandeur | please, 
| p* p» | Nurs'd | p^on the | downy | lap of | ease, 
p* p* | Fall | prostrate | p- at his | throne : | i*p» 
p»Ye | princes, | rulers, [ p» p» | all | p»* a- | dore ; 
p» p» | Praise | him | p* • ye | kings, | p» # who | makes 



124 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



| your | power | r* An [image | p»of his | own, | p* r» { 
| p* | p- Ye | fair, | p* • by f nature | form'd to | move, | 
1 p- f | | praise | p»the E- | ternal | source of \ 
| love, | p* # With | youth's en- | livening | fire : | p- r- | 
| r* • Let | age take | up the | tuneful j lay, | p* p* | 
} Sigh his | blest | name — | p» r* | then | soar a- | way, | 

Slow. 

| p» # And | ask an \ angel's | lyre, j p» r» | r* r* | 

AUBURN; OR, THE DESERTED VILLAGE, 
GOLDSMITH. 

Rather slow. 

3 | Sweet J Auburn ! j — r* | loveliest | village | r*of 
the j plain, | — r~ | i* Where 1 health and | plenty p» { 
j cheer'd the | labouring | swain; | — r» | p» Where j 
| smiling | spring | —its | earliest | visit | paid, | 
J —And J parting | summer's | lingering | blooms | 
J -de- | layM ; | — p* | Dear | lovely | bowers | —of | 
| innocence | p* and | ease, j — r— j Seats of my | youth, | 
| mm when | every J sport could | please, J — How | 
J often | r*have I | loiter'd | p-o'er thy | green, J 
| p* Where | humble | happiness | — en- | dear'd each | 
| scene! | - p. | —How | often ] have I | paus'd | -on | 
| every | charm, | -The J shelter'd | cot, m 1 -The | 
I cultivated | farm, | -The | never- | failing | brook, J 
| -the | busy | mill, | -The | decent | church | -that j 
| topp'dthe | neighbouring | hill, | -The | hawthorn | 
| bush, | -with | seats be- | neath the | shade | -For | 
| talking | age and | youthful | converse | made ! | - r» | 



•THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



125 



| -How | often | have I | bless'd the | coming | day, { 
| -When | toil re- | mitting | lent its | turn to | play; | 
| —And | all the | village | train, | -from | labour | 
| free, p- | — Led | up their | sports | —be- | neath the [ 
| spreading | tree;^ | —While | many a | pastime | 
| circled | in the | shade, j —The | young con- | tend- 
ing | p«as the | old sur- | vey'd ; [ —And | many a | 
j gambol | frolick'd | o'er the | ground, | — And | sleights 
of | art | —and | feats of | strength went | round, | 
i — r* j These | were thy | charms, J — r- j sweet | 
| village ! | - p- | sports like | these, | —With | sweet 
sue- | cession, r» | taught e'en | toil to j please; | — f [ 
{ These | round thy | bowers | —their | cheerful | in- 
fluence [ shed ; | — r* 1 These | were thy [ charms,— | 

Very slow. 

| - r- | butr* { all these | charms | —are | fled. p» | 

f — r* J - s- j - r» | 

Rather slow. 

| Sweet | smiling | village! | — n» | loveliest | n»of 
the | lawn, [ i^Thy | sports are | fled, | —and | all thy | 
I charms ] —with- [ drawn ; J — A- | midst thy | bow- 
ers | —the j tyrant's | hand is | seen, | — And [ deso- ( 
| lation v* | saddens | all thy | green : | — r» | One | 
| only | master | grasps the | whole do- | main, | — And f 
| half a | tillage | stints thy | smiling | plain. | — No | 
| more thy | glassy | brook re- 1 fleets the | day, | — But J 
| chok'd with | sedges, | works its | weedy | way ; { 
j — A- | long thy | glades, | — a | solitary | guest, [ 
| —The | hollow- 1 sounding | bittern | guards its | nest ; f 
| —A- | midst thy | desert [ walks, | — the [ lapwing J 
| flies, | —And | tires their) echoes | with un- 1 varied | 



126 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER 



j cries, j - r» [ Sunk | are thy | bowers j —in ( shape- 
less [ ruin [ all, J cAnd the | long [ grass J -o'er- j 
| tops the | mouldering | wall ; | — And | trembling, | 
| «p | shrinking, | r»from the | spoiler's J hand, { 
j — r» [ Far, { - r* | far a- j way [ -thy | children | 
[ leave the j land. | - r» j — r» J — r* [ 

| 111 | fares the | land, | -to | hastening | ills a | 
I prey, [ —Where | wealth ac- ] cumulates, | —and | 
J men de- | cay. | p* I — r» | Princes and | lords | 
j —may | flourish, | —or may | fade ; | — A | breath can J 
| make them, | p-as a | breath | has made: ] — r— | 
| r»But a | bold | peasantry, | —their J country's | 
| pride, j —When [ once de- | stroy'd, | —can J never [ 
| r»be sup- J plied. | — r*> | — A | time there | was, r- | 
| —ere | England's | griefs be- | gan, r» | —When | 
[ every | rood of | ground [ —main- 1 tain'd its j man ; p» [ 
j —For I him light | labour | spread her | wholesome | 
| store ;| - p» | Just | gave what | life re- | quir'd, j 
| — but | gave no | more : | —His | best com- 1 panions, r* | 
[ innocence and | health ; & | And his | best] riches, r» | 
| ignorance of J wealth. p» | — r- j 

| —But | times are | alter'd; | — | trade's un- | 
| feeling | train | — U- | surp the | land, | —and | dis- 
pos- | sess the j swain. | — A- | long the | lawn, [ 
| —where | scattered | hamlets | rose, | — Un- | wieldy | 
| wealth | —and | cumbrous | pomp re- 1 pose ; | —And | 
| every | want to | luxury al- j lied, | —And | every | 
j pang that | folly | pays to | pride. | — n» 1 Those [ 
| gentle | hours | -that | plenty | bade to | bloom, | 
| -Those I calmde- [ sires I -that [ askMbut | little | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



127 



| room, | —Those | healthful | sports | —that | grac'd 
the | peaceful | scene, | — p- | Liv'd | in each | look [ 
| —and | brightened j all the | green — | — p* | These, | 
| far de j parting, | seek a | kinder [ shore, | —And [ 
| rural | mirth and | manners | p* are no | more. | — p» j 

i 1 i 

| Sweet | Auburn ! | — p» | parent | p-of the | bliss- 
ful | hour, | —Thy | glades for- | lorn | —con- 1 fess the \ 
| tyrant's | power. [ — p* | Here | p* as I | take my j 
| solitary | rounds, | — A- | midst thy j tangling j 
[ walks, | —and | ruin'd | grounds ; | — And | many a j 
| year e- | laps'd | —re- | turn to | view J —Where I 
[ once the [ cottage | stood, | — the [ hawthorn | grew ; J 
| —Re- | membrance | wakes with | all her | busy j 
| train, | — J Swells ( p»at my | breast, | —and | 
| turns the | past to | pain. [ — p» | — p* | 

J — In j all my | wanderings | round this | world of | 
| care, [ — In | all my | griefs— | —and | God has j 
| given my ) share — | — I ] still had | hopes, | — my j 
1 latest | hours to | crown, | — A- | midst these | hum- 
ble | bowers [ — to | lay me | down ; ] — To | husband j 
| out | life's | taper [ r* at the j close, | —And | keep 
the | flame from | wasting | p* by re- | pose j j — I [ 
| still had | hopes, | -for | pride at- | tends us | still, j 
| —A- | midst the | swains | — to | show my | book- 
learn'd | skill ; | — A- | round my | fire | — an | eve- 
ning | group to | draw, | -And | tell of | all I | felt, [ 
| —and | all I | saw : | — p» | And,n | r»as a | hare, | 
| —whom | hounds and | horns pur- | sue, | — p* | 
| Pants to the [ place from | whence at | first he | flew, [ 



128 THE KHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



| - r* | I | still had | hopes, | - my | long vex- | ations | 
| past, | - r* | Here to re- | turn — | -and | die at | 
| home at | last. | - p* | - p* | | blest re- 1 tirement, | 
I mm p. j friend to | life's de- 1 cline, | —Re- | treat from | 
| care | r-that j never | must be | mine ! | — p» | p»How | 
| blest is | he, r* | who ] crowns, | — in | shades like [ 
| these, | -A | youth of | labour | p. with an | age of [ 
[ ease; | —Who | quits a | world | —where | strong 
temp- | tations [ try, j —And, | since 'tis | hard to | 
| combat, | — r* | learns to | fly ! | — p* | —For | him p* | 
| r»no | wretches, | born to | work and | weep, | —Ex- | 
| plore the | mine, | —or | tempt the | dangerous | 
| deep; | — p* | — No | surly [ porter p* | stands in j 
[ guilty | state, 1 — To | spurn im- | ploring | famine | 
| r-from the ( gate; | —But | on he | moves | — to | 
| meet his | latter | end, | — p* | Angels a- [ round | 
| —be- | friending | virtue's | friend; | — r» | Sinks | 
| p»to the j grave | —with | unper- | ceiv'd de- | cay, | 
| -While | resig- | nations [ gently | slopes the | 
| way; | —And | all his \ prospects | brightening | 
| r*to the | last, | —His | heaven com- 1 mences | — p» | 
| ere the | world be | past ! | — r» | — p» | .,m t* j 

| Sweet | was the | sound, | - when J oft, at | eve- 
ning's | close, | -Up | yonder | hill J -the | village | 
| murmur | rose; | - r* | There | r-as I | pass'd, | 
| -with | careless | steps and | slow, | -The | min- 
gling | notes p- J p. came | soften'd | r-from be- | low ; | 
| -The | swain, | -re- ( sponsive | r-as the j milk 
maid | sung, | -The | sober | herd | -that | low'd to | 
| meet their young, I -The | noisy | geese | -that | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



12^ 



| gabbled | o'er the | pool, j -The | playful | children 
| just let | loose from | school, | —The [ watch-dog's 
| voice J —that | bay'd the | whispering | wind, 
| r*And the J loud j laugh, [ -that | spoke the [ va- 
cant | mind ; | — r» | These m | all in | sweet con- 
| fusion | sought the | shade, | —And | filPd each 
{ pause J —the | nigh tin- J gale had | made. [ — p* 
| —But | now the [ sounds of | popu- | lation | fail, 
| mm jm | No | cheerful | murmurs [ fluctuate | p*in the 
j gale, J — No | busy | steps | — the | grass-grown 
| foot-way | tread, | —But | all the | bloomy | flush of 
[ life | — is | fled : | — p» | — p» | All J but yon 
| widowed [ solitary | thing, [ —that | feebly | bends 
j —be- | side the | plashy J spring ; | | — p* [ She, p» 
1 wretched | matron ! | — p* | forc'd in | age, | —for 
| bread, | —To | strip the | brook with | mantling 
j cresses | spread, | —To J pick her | wintry | fagot 
| p»from the | thorn, | — To | seek her | nightly ] shed, 
} -and | weep till | morn \ | — p* | She | only | left 
| —of | all the | harmless [ train, | —The | sad his- 
| torian | p- of the | pensive | plain ! | - p« | — p. | — p* 
1 p-Near | yonder | copse, | p- where | once the 
| garden [ smil'd, | —And I still where | many a I gar- 
den | flower grows | wild, | — p* [ There p* | where a 
| few | torn | shrubs [ — the | place dis- | close, 
| —The | village | preacher's | modest | mansion | rose. 
| — p* j —A | man he | was | — to | all the | country 
| dear, | -And | passing | rich, | -with | forty | 
| pounds a | year ; | - pi | -Re- | mote from | towns 
| -he | ran his | godly ( race, | -Nor J e'er had j 



130 THE RHYTHMICAL RE A DEE* 



| chang'd, | -nor | wish'd to | change, j —his | place. [ 
j m r* | -Un- | skilful | he | —to | fawn, | -or | seek 
for | power, | -By | doctrines | fashin'd | p» to the | 
| varying | hour; | — p* | Far | other | aims | p»his | 
| heart had [ learned to | prize, | — p* | More j bent to | 
( raise the | wretched | p-than to | rise. | — p* | —His j 
[ house was | known j —to | all the | vagrant | train ; | 
| -He | chid their | wanderings, j p. but re- | liev'd 
their | pain. | — t* j -The | long re- J member'd j 
| beggar | p-was his [ guest, | —Whose | beard de- | 
[ scending, | - p» \ swept his | aged | breast|; | -The \ 
[ ruin'd | spendthrift, j — p* | now no \ longer } 
j proud, ( — r— | Claimed [ kindred | there, J —and I 
| had his | claims al- | low'd J -The | broken { sol- 
dier, ) kindly | bade to | stay, | — p* J f Sat | p»by 
his [ fire, [ —and | talk'd the | night a- | way ; j — p» | 
| Wept | o'er his J wounds, J —or | tales of I sorrow j 
{ done, | — p» j Shoulder'd his [ crutch, | —and | 
j show'd how | fields were [ won. | — p* | — p» j 
J Pleas'd [ p-with his | guests, | —the | good man | 
J learn'd to | glow, [ — And j quite for- J got their | 
[ vices { p»in their | wo j [ — p* ( Careless j —their | 
| merits \ p. or their [ faults to | scan, | -His | pity | 
J gave | p-e'er | charity | -be- j gan. J — |; *■ p»| 
| Thus to re- | lieve the | wretched | p* was his | 
| pride, | -And ( e'en his j failings | - p» | lean'd to | 
| virtue's | side : | - r- | But, p* | p* in his | duty p* | 
| prompt at | every | call, | p» He | watch'd | -and | 
I wept, | - he | pray'd | -and | felt | -for | all : | 
j — p* | And, as a | bird | pleach | fond en- | dearment | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



131 



I tries, | -To | tempt her | new-fledg'd | offspring | 
| p*to the | skies ; | — p* | p* He | tried each | art, | — re- j 
| proved each | dullde- 1 lay, | — Al- 1 lured to | brighter | 
J worlds, | —and [ led the | way. | — r* | —Be- | side 
the | bed, p» | —where | parting | life was | laid, J 
j —And J sorrow, | guilt, and | pain, | —by | turns dis- | 
| may'd, | r-The | reverend | champion | stood. | — p» | 
j — At | his con- | trol | — De- | spair and | anguish j 
| fled the | struggling | soul; J — r— { Comfort | p»came | 
| down | — p. | — the | trembling | wretch to | raise, | 
| — p* | And his | last | faltering | accents ( — W j 
| whisper'd | praise. | — r* | — p* j 

| —At | church, | — with j meek | p* and unaf- | 
| fected | grace, | —His | looks a- | dorn'd the | vene- 
rable | place; | — p» | Truth from | his lips J — pre- 
| vaiPd with | double | sway ; | — And | fools who 
| came to | scoff, | — re- | main'd to | pray. | — p* 
| — The | service | past, | — a- | round the J pious 
J man, j — With | ready | zeal | p-each | honest | rustic 
| ran; | — p* | E'en | children | followed | p*with en- 
| dearing | wile, | —And | pluck' d his | gown, | —to 
| share the | good man's | smile. | —His | ready | smile 
| — a j parent's | warmth ex- | pressed ; | — Their 
| welfare | pleas'd him, | p»and their | cares | — dis- 
| tress'd. | - - | -To | them | — his J heart, \ -his 
| love, | —his | griefs | — were | given, | —But | all his 
| serious | thoughts | —had | rest in | heaven: | - p» 
| -As | some | tall | cliff | -that | lifts its | awful 
| form, | - p* | Swells | p» from the | vale, | — and 



132 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| midway | leaves the | storm, | -Though | round its j 
| breast | -the | rolling | clouds are | spread, | -E- | 
| ternal | sunshine | - p» | settles | p* on its | head. | 
\ mf | ,m* | | 

HUMAN FRAILTY i "j 

COWPER. 

Moderate. 

2 J Weak | p» and ir- 1 resolute | e • is j man ,• | p» • The | 
j purpose | r*of to- | day, J p» p» | Woven with | pains | 
| into his | plan, | p» • To- | morrow J rends a- | way. | 
j • The | bow | well | bent, | r* • and | smart the j 
I spring, | rr* | Vice | seems al- | ready | slain ; ] 
j p* • But | passion J rudely | snaps the | string, | p» r» j 
| And it re- | vives a- | gain. | p- r- | p» Some | foe j 
| to his up- 1 right in- 1 tent, | p* Finds | out his | weaker j 
j part; | p» p» | Virtue en- | gages | n-his as- j sent, | 
| r-' But | pleasure | p* p* | wins his | heart, j p» p» | 
| p» • 'Tis | here the | folly | r»of the | wise, j p» Through | 
| all his | art we | view ; | p* • And | while his | tongue 
the | charge de- | nies, | r» % His | conscience | owns it | 
| true. | p. p» | p* p» J Bound on a | voyage of | awful | 
| length, | c • And | dangers | little | known, J r* • A | 
| stranger | p*to su- | perior | strength, | p* p- | Man | 
| vainly | trusts his | ow r n. | p* p» ] p» • But | oars a- | 
| lone | p*can | ne'er pre- | vail | p» # To | reach the ] 
| distant | coast ; | p»* The | breath of | heaven | p-must ] 
1 swell the | sail, | p. - Or | all the | toil | p*« is | lost. | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



133 



THE ORDER OF NATURE. 
POPE. 

Rather slow. 

3 J See, | tli rough this | air, | —this | ocean, ] r*and 
this | earth, | - r* [ All [ matter | quick, | —and | 
| bursting | r-into | birth, j — r- | — A- | bove, f | 
{ r»how | high | —pro- | gressive | life may | go ! r* ] 
| —A- | round, j r*how | wide ! f | r*how | deepex- J 
j tend be- J low ! r* | — r» | Vast | chain of | being ! ] 
j » p. | which from | God be- j gan, r» j ■— r» J Na- 
tures e- | thereal, | — | human ; | — r* j angel, | 
| mm ?m J man ; I — p* I Beast, | bird, | fish, | insect; | 
| « r» | what no | eye can | see, | r»No | glass can { 
| reach; r* | —from | infinite to j thee, | —From | thee j 
| —to | nothing. — | — r» | On su- 1 peri or | powers | 
| —Were | we to | press, | —in- | ferior | r* might on | 
| ours ; | — r» | Or in the | full ere- | ation n» | leave a J 
| void, | — f | Where, | one step | broken, J —the | 
f great | scale's de- 1 stroy'd : j — p» | —From | nature's | 
J chain | —What- | ever | link you | strike, | — i* j 
| Tenth, j r*or ten- | thousandth, | — r* | breaks the ] 
| chain a- | like. | — r* | —And, | if each | system | 
| r»in gra- [ dation | roll, | — A- | like es- | sential j 
} to the a- | mazingl whole, | —The | least con- | fusion | 
| r-but in | one, | —not I all | That | system | only, | 
| r-but the | whole | p»must | fall. | — r» | —Let | 
| earth un- | balanc'd | i^from her | orbit | fly, | — r» f 
J Planets and j suns | r*run | lawless | thro' the j 



134 



THE RHYTHMIC AX HEADER. 



| sky; | - r» | -Let | ruling | angels | p»from their | 
| spheres be | hurl'd, | — r» | Being on | being | wreck'd, j 
| —and [ world J —on | world ; | — p- | Heaven's | 
J whole foun- | dations | r-to their | centre | nod, | 
| p» And | nature | tremble | p-to the I throne of | God : | 
j mm j p. All | this dread | order J break— | — p* j 
| -for | whom? J —for | thee ? J — p- | Vile | worm ! j 
| - p. | Oh | madness ! j — p* ] pride ! j — p» | p*im- | 
| piety ! p» I — p* | — p* 1 What if the | foot m or- j 
| dain'd the | dust to | tread, | — Or | hand m to | toil, | 
j —as- | pir'd to | be the | head ? [ — p» | — p* | What 
if the | hand, | -the | eye, | -or | ear | -re- [ pin'd [ 
| —To | serve J mere | engines | p»to the | ruling | 
j mind ? | — p» | — p» | Just as ab- | surd for | any j 
J part to | claim | p*To be a- | nother, p* | in this | 
| general | frame : | — p* | Just as ab- | surd, | — to | 
| mourn the j tasks or j pains, ) —The | great di- | 
| recting | mind or | all | — or- | dains. | — p» | 
| — p» \ All are but | parts of j one stu- | pendous | 
I whole, j —Whose | body | nature | is, | —and | God j 
| —the j soul : | — p» | That, p» | changed through j all, | 
| —and | yet in | all the | same, | — p* | Great | r»in 
the | earth, | — as | in the e- | thereal | frame; | — p» | 
| Warms | p*in the | sun, p* | — re- | freshes | p* in the J 
| breeze, | — p* | Glows | p-in the j stars, [ —and | 
| blossoms | p-in the | trees ; | - p. | Lives I through all | 
| life, p» | -ex- | tends | -through | all ex- | tent, | 
| - p* | Spreads | undi- 1 vided, p* | proper- 1 ates | -un- \ 
| spent ; | — p» | Breathes | in our | soul J —In- | forms 
our | mortal | part, | -As | full, | -as | perfect, | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



135 



| r-in a | hair | -as | heart; | -As | full, | -as | 
| perfect, j -in | vile | man | -that | mourns, | p*As 
the | rapt | seraph | r-that a- j (lores | —and | burns : j 
| — I —To | him j —no | high, | — no | low, | — no j 
| great, | -no j small ; | -He | fills, | -he | bounds, | 
| —con- j nects, ] —and | equals | all. J — p» ] — p* | 
j Cease then, | —nor J order [ simper- | fectionp* J 
j name : | r-Our J proper | bliss j -de- J pends on j 
j what we | blame. | — p* | Know thy | own | point : | 
| —this | kind, | —this [ due de- [ gree | —Of ] blind- 
ness, | — p* | weakness, | — p* | Heaven be- { stows 
on [ thee, f* | — p- | —Sub- | mit — p* | — p- | — In J 
[ this, p» | p* or any J other [ sphere, [ — Se- | cure to | 
| be as | blest | — as | thou canst | bear : | — p- | Safe p» j 
] r»in the | hand of | one dis- | posing | Power, J 
| —Or [ in the J natal, j p*or the | mortal j hour. { 
j mm p. [ All J nature [ r-is but [ art, | — un- J known 
to [ thee ; j — r ] All [ chance, J — di- | rection, J 
| r» which thou | canst not j see ; p» | — p» ] All | dis- 
cord, j — j harmony | not under | stood ; | — p» j 
j All | partial \ evil, p* | r»uni- | versal | good : | — p» | 
j —And, | spite of | Pride, | — in | erring | Reason's J 

Slow. 

i spite, | — r* | One | truth is | clear — | — p* | —what- | 
I EVER | IS, | —IS | RIGHT, j — r- | — p» j — p» | 

TO THE URSA MAJOR. 
H. WARE, JR. 

Rather slow. 

3 | —With | what a | stately | r*and ma- [ jestic j 
j step p- j — That | glorious |constel-| lation J p»of the j 



136 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| north | - r* I Treads its e- | ternal | circle ! | - p* f 
I S oi »g I forth | -Its | princely | way a- | mongst the j 
| stars | -in | slow And | silent | brightness. | - r- | 
| Mighty | one, | - r- | all | Iiail ! | - p- | -I | joy to | 
j see thee, | on thy 1 glowing | path, ] - r- | Walk, | 
| like some | stout and | girded | giant — | — r- | 
| stern, | — Un- | wearied, | — r- | resolute, | — whose j 
| toiling | foot Dis- | dains to | loiter | p»on its | des- 
tined | way. | - p* ] -The | other | tribes | -for- | 
| sake their | midnight | track, | —And ] rest their j 
| weary j orbs | — be- | neath the | wave ; | — r» j 
| —But | thou dost | never | close thy | burning j eye, | 
j —Nor | stay thy | steadfast | step, p* | —But [ on, | 
| mm pm | still | on, | — While | systems | change, } 
| —and | suns re- | tire, | — and | worlds ! Slumber and | 
| wake, | —thy | ceaseless | march pro- | ceeds. | 
J —The ] near ho- | rizon p* | tempts to | rest in | vain. | 
J — p» | Thou, | faithful | sentinel, | — dost| never [ 
J quit Thy | long-ap- 1 pointed | watch ; | — p- | but, p- | 
| sleepless | still, | -Dost | guard the | fix'd | light | 
| n- of the | universe, | —And | bid the ] north | —for- \ 
j ever | know its | place. | — p» | — p» J 

| Ages have | witness'd [ thy de- | voted J trust, J 
j — Un- | chang'd, j — un- | changing. | - r- | When 
the I sons of | God | p* Sent | forth that | shout of j joy j 
| -which | rang thro' | heaven, | -And | echoed ] 
| p-from the | outer | spheres | -that | bound The il- | 
| limitable | universe, | —thy | voice | Joiti'd the | 
| high | chorus ; ( - p- | from thy | radiant | orbs | 
| -The | glad | cry | sounded, j - p* j swelling to j 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



137 



f His | praise, | — Who | thus had | cast a- | nother [ 
j sparkling j gem, | - r- | Little, | —but | beautiful, j 
j —a- | mid the | crowd Of | splendours | r*that en- j 
| rich his | firmament. J — r- j — p- I As thou art j 
j now j — ■ I so | wast thou j then j — the j same. [ 

| Ages have [ rolled their { course, | —and | time J 
j grown | gray ; | —The | seas have ] chang'd their | 
| beds ; p- | r-the e- | ternal | hills Have | stoop'd with J 
| age ; | —the | solid | continents | —Have | left their J 
| banks ; [ —and | man's im- 1 perial j works — | —The j 
| toil, { pride, | strength of | kingdoms, | t* which had j 
j flung Their | haughty | honours J r»in the [ face of j 
J heaven, | —As | if im- | mortal — | — r* J havebeen | 
| swept a- | way — | — t*> | Shattered | —and | mould- 
ering, | — r* | buried | r-and for- j got. r» | — t~ \ 
| —But | time has | shed no | dimness j on thy J front, \ 
j —Nor | touch'd the J firmness | r*of thy | tread : J 
1 *• r* | youth, ] strength, | —And j beauty r» | still 
are | thine— | — as | clear, J —as | bright, j — As | 
| when the Al- | mighty | Former | sent thee | forth, r* | 
| Beautiful | offspring | r*ofhis | curious | skill, | —To j 
| watch earth's j northern | beacon | r» and pro- | claim 
The e- | ternal | chorus | —of e- | ternal [ Love. | 

| -I | wonder | r* as I | gaze. J — r* j — That | 

| stream of | light, | -Un | dimm'd, | -un- 1 quench'd, — J 

I — r* | just as I | see thee | now, — | —Has | issued J 

| from those | dazzling ] points, | —through j years J 

[ p*That go | back J far | into e- J ternity. | — r» | 

M2 



138 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

| -Ex- j haustless | flood ! | -for- | ever | spent, f 
| —re- | new'd For- | ever ! r* | — n- | Yea, | -and j 
| those re- | fulgent | drops, | —Which j now de- [ 
| scend | upon my | lifted J eye, j - r» | Left their [ 
] far | fountain | twice three | years a- | go. r- | — r- J 
| While those | wingM | particles, | —whose | speed 
out- | strips The | flight of | thought, | - were | on their | 
| W ay, | —the | earth j Compass'dits | tedious | circuit j 
( round and | round, | —And | in the ex- | tremes of | 
| annual | change, | — be- | held | Six | autumns | fade, f 
} — r* | six | springs re- [ new their | bloom, j — ( 
| So { far from | earth | p» those | mighty | orbs re- | 
j volve ! | — r* | —So | vast the | void | —through | 
| which their | beams | — de- | scend ! | — p* | — r* } 
| Yea, | glorious | lamps of | God, | — p» | He may have [ 
J quench'd Your | ancient | flames, | —and | bid e- | 
| ternal | night | Rest j on your | spheres; | —and j 
| yet no | tidings | reach This | distant 1 planet. | — r— j 
| Messengers | still | comer* | Laden with | your far | 
J fire, | — m \ and we may j seem to | see your j lights 
still | burning ; | — r* | while their | blaze | —But | 
J hides the | black | wreck | r*of ex- 1 tinguish'd | realms, | 
j — Where | anarchy and | darkness | — r» J long have { 
| reign'd. | - r- | - r- j 

| Yetr* | what is | this, r* J which r» | to the as- j 
| tonish'd | mindr- | Seems | measureless, | — and | 
| which the | baffled | thought Con- | founds ? | - i* [ 
1 — A | span, | —a | point, | —in | those do- | mains [ 
1 r» Which the | keen | eye can j traverse. | — i» f 
I - f | Seven | stars p* | Dwell in that | brilliant ( 



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139 



[ cluster, r* | p*and the | sight Em- | braces | all at | 
| once;p- | — p- | -yet | each from | each | —Re- | 
| cedes as | far | — as | each of | them from | earth, p- | 
| —And ] every | star | —from | every | others | 
( burns | No less re- | mote. | — p* | From the pro- [ 
j found of | heaven, | — Un- | traveled | even in j 
j thought | - p- | keen, I piercing | rays | — t* | Dart | 
( through the | void, j —re- | veating | p- to the | sense | 
| Systems | —and | worlds | — un- | numbered. | — p» j 
| Take the | glass p- | —And | search the | skies. | 
| — r— J —The | opening | skies | p-pourjdown | Upon 
your | gaze | r- thick | showers of | sparkling ] fire— | 
( - | Stars, | — p* | crowded, | — r— ] thronged, | 
| —in | regions | so re- | mote, ] p*That their | swift | 
j beams ] —the | swiftest | things that | be — | —Have | 
| travel I'd | centuries | on their | flight to | earth. p» | 
J mm p. | Earth, | — p* | sun, | —and | nearer | constel- j 
| lations, | — p» | what Are | ye a- | mid this [ infinite 
ex- | tent And [ multitude) —of | God's | p»most| 
| infinite | works ! | — r- | — r» | 

( —And ] these are | suns! — | — r* | — p* | vast, | 
| central, | living | fires, | — p- | Lords of de- | pendent j 
( systems, | — p» | kings of | worlds | —That | w ait as | 
I satellites up- | on their | power, | —And | flourish | 
| in their | smile. | — r*» | — A- | w 7 ake, my | soul, } 
| —And | meditate the | wonder ! | — p* | Countless { 
| suns | Blaze | round thee, | — p- | leading J forth their J 
| countless | worlds ! | — p» | Worlds, | in whose j 
| bosoms | living | things re- | joice, | — And | drink the | 
| bliss of | being | p*from the | fount Of j all -per- j 



140 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER 



| vailing | Love. — | — p- | —What | mind can | know, 
j r-What | tongue can | utter, | all their [ multitudes! 
j —Thus [ numberless | —in | numberless | — a- 
| bodes ! | f» | -m t* | Known j p* but to | thee, 
| blessed | Father ! j - i- | Thine they [ are, | -Thy 
| children | r*and thy j care; | r»and ] none o'er- 
j look'd Of | thee !— | - r- [ no, r* | not the [ humblest 
[ soul [ -that j dwells | Upon the | humblest | globe, 
] -which | wheels its j course j — A- 1 mid the | giant 
| glories j r» of the ] sky, | — r* | Like the | mean 
| mote I —that | dances | r* in the | beam j — A- 
| mongst the | mirror' d [ lamps, | —which | fling their 
| wasteful j splendour | from the | palace | wall. 
| — [ — m J None, | — p» | none es- | cape the 
| kindness j r*of thy | care; | — p» j All | compass'd 
J rounder- | neath thy | spacious | wing, | — | Each 
j fed and | guided | r* by thy | powerful J hand. | — r» | 

| Tell me, | — ye [ splendid J orbs j — as | from your 
| throne, j ■■ Ye | mark the | rolling | provinces | —that 
| own Your | sway — | —what | beings | fill those | 
| bright a- ] bodes ? ] « | -How | form'd, | -how | 
| gifted ? | - p* | what their | powers, | —their | state, j 
| —Their | happiness, | —their | wisdom ? | — r» | — r- | 
| Do they | bear The | stamp of | human | nature ? | - r* | 
| r-Or has | God | Peopled those | purer | realms | 
| -with | lovelier ] forms | -And J more ce- | lestial | 
| minds ? | - r* | -Does | Innocence | -Still | wear 
her | native | r»and un- | tainted | bloom ? | - r* | 
| r-Or has | Sinn- | breath'd his | deadly [ blight a- [ 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



141 



J broad, j — And ] sow'd cor- [ ruption | in those | 
| fairy | bovvers ? | — r- | —Has | War trod | o'er them | 
| with his | foot of | fire 1 | « r- | -And| Slavery j 
| forged his | chains ? | —and | Wrath and | Hate, r* | 
| —And | sordid | Selfishness, | —and | cruel | Lust, r* | 
j Leagued their | base | bands | — to | tread out | light 
and | truth, r- | — And | scattered | wo | r- where | Hea- 
ven had | planted | joy ? | — f | — Or | are they | yet all ( 
| paradise, | — un- | fallen | —And | uncor- [ rupt ? | 
| —ex- 1 istence | one | long | joy, | — With- | out dis- | 
| ease | upon the | frame, | — or | sin | Upon the | heart, | 
| -or j weariness of | life — | — r» | Hope | never | 
| quench'd, | —and | ageun- | know r n, | —And | death | 
| mm un- 1 fear'd ; | — while | fresh and | fadeless | youth r- | 
| Glows in the | light from | God's near | throne of j 
| love ? | — | — i~ | — p» | 

| Open your | lips, r» | — ye | wonderful | 
| — and | fair! | — r- | Speak, | — r- | speak ! | 
| mm pm | —the | mysteries | ^of tho3e | living | worlds j 
| — Un- { fold ! r» | — r* | — | No | language ? | 
| mm p. | Ever- 1 lasting | light, | — And | ever- | lasting j 
| silence? | — r- | — r* | Yet the | eye May | read | r-and 
under- | stand. | — r* | —The | hand of | God | —Has ( 
j written | legibly | p-what | man may j know | 
| —The I glory j r- of the | Maker. I — I — p» \ 
J There it | shines, | —In- | e (Table, r* | r-un- 1 changea- 
able; | —and | man, | — r» j Bound to the [ surface 
of this | pigmy r* | globe, | — May j know | — and | 
| ask no | more, | m | —In | other | days, | — When j 
| death shall | give the en- | cumber'd | spirit | wings, ( 



142 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

| -Its | range J shall be ex- [ tended ; | - p* | it shall | 
| roam, | -Per- | chance, | «a-| mongst those [ vast, | 
I — mys- 1 terious j spheres, | — r» | — Shall | pass from | 
| orb to | orb, | —and ] dwell in | each | —Fa- 1 miliar | 
| r^with its | children j — p» | learn their | laws, | — | 
| —And [ share their | state, [ —and | study and a- | 
| dore | — The | infinite va- | rieties of | bliss And | 
| beauty, p* | p*by the j Hand of j Power di- j vine p* ) 
| Lavished on | all its | works, p- | — p. | — E- | ter- 
nity j — Shall j thus roil | on | —with | ever | fresh de- | 
| light; | — p» | No | pause of | pleasure | p»or im- | 
j provement; j — p* | world On | world | p» still ] 
j opening j to the in- | structed j mind | —An | unex- [ 
| hausted | universe, | —and | time But | adding to its | 
| glories; | — p* | while the | soul, | —Ad- | vancing | 
[ everr» | r* to the | Source of | light And | all per- | 
| fection, | — p* | lives, j — a- J dores | — and | reigns | 
| p*In | cloudless | knowledge, | — p* | purity | —and | 
| bliss, j — r* I — i «■ p* | 

PERPETUAL ADORATION. 
MOORE. 

Rather slow. 

2 | p. -The | turf shall | be my | fragrant [ shrine; | 
| p**My | temple | Lord, | p* that | arch of j thine; | 
| p-'My | cencer's | breath the | mountain | airs, | 
] r-* And | silent | thoughts | p* # my | only j prayers: | 

i f t- 1 

| r- • My | choir shall | be the j moonlight | waves, | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



143 



| r» When | murmuring | homeward | to their j caves; | 
| p*- Or ) when the | stillness | r»of the | sea, | p* p» j 
| Even | more than | music, | r* r- | breathes of | 
| thee, h j n» r» | 

| p-FH | seek, by | day, h | p-some j glade un- ] 
| known, | r* | All | light and | silence, | p» p-» | 
| like thy | throne; | p» p* | And the | pale | stars I p» • shall j 
| be, m at | night, | p**The | only | eyes | • that j 
| watch my | rite. [ p* | | 

| r**Thy | heaven, | p- # on | which 'tis | bliss to J 
| look, m | p* - Shall | be my | pure j r» • and | shining | 
| book, m | r- r- | Where I shall | read, | p» • in | words 
of | flame, J p» • The | glories | p» of thy | wondrous | 
| name. | p* | 

| p*I'll | read thy [ anger | in the | rack, | p» • That j 
| clouds a- j while the | day-beam's [ track ; | r» • Thy | 
I mercy, ^ | in the | azure | hue | p- • Of | sunny | 
j brightness, | breaking | through. | r* r- j 

J p*There's | nothing | bright, | p* • a- | bove, | p» be- | 
j low, [ p» • From j flowers that | bloom, | p*'to| 
[ stars that | glow, | p** But | in its [ light | p- • my | 
| soul can | see | p»Some | feature | p-of thy | Deity! [ 
| p» p» ] 

| f There's | nothing | dark, J p* • be- | low, | p» • a- j 
| bove, | p»*But | in its J gloom | p» # I ) trace thy j 
| love; | p**And | meekly | wait j that \ moment, | 
| when | p»*Thy | touch shall | turn | all I bright j 
| p» • a- | gain. | p» r- | p- p* J 



U4 



THE I< RYTHMICAL READER. 



THE PLANETARY AND TERRESTRIAL WORLDS COM- 
PARATIVELY CONSIDERED. 

ADDISON. 

Moderate. 

3 | —To | us, h who { dwell on its | surface, p* j 
| —the | earth is hy | far p* the | most ex- | tensive j 
| orb | r-that our j eyes can | any where be- | hold : p* | 
| r- it is | also | clothed with | verdure, | — dis- | tin- 
guished by | trees p- | p*and a- | domed with a va- j 
] riety of | beautiful deco- j rations ; p* j —where- | as, 
to a spec- | tator r- | placed on one of the ] planets, p* | 
] ^itwearsa | uniform | aspect ;p* | looks all | lumi- | 
j nous ; m | p*and no | larger than a | spot, p» | — To | 
j beings who | dwell at still | greater distances, | 
| —it en- | tirely disap- | pears. r-» | r* j That which 
we | call al- J ternately the | morning | r»and the ] 
| evening | star, p- | p*(asin | one part of the | orbit p* | 
| p» she rides | foremost in the pro | -cession of | night, p* | 
| p* in the | other p* | p»ushers | in p* | p*and an- j 
| ticipates the | dawn,) r- | p*is a | planetary | world. | 
| — p» | This planet, | p*and the four | others p- | that so | 
| wonderfully | vary their | mystic | dance, p» | are in them- | 
| selves | dark bodies, | ^and shine | only by re- | 
| flection ; p* | - have | fields, and | seas, and ] 
| skies of their | own ; p» | — are | furnished with | 
| all accommo- | dations for | animal sub- |sistence, p» | 
| and are sup- | posed to be the a- | bodes of intel- | 
| lectual | life ; p. | - p» | all J which p-to- | gether with 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER. 



145 



our | earthly habi- | tation, p» | p»are de- j pendent 
on that | grand *dis- j penser of Di- | vine mil- j nifi- 
cence, h the j sun : r* J —re- [ ceive their { light | 
! from the distri- } bution of his \ rays, r» { r*and de- j 
j rive their j comfort j from his be- { nign j agency, { 
] - ^ j «~i The | sun, h which j seems to per- \ 
] form its daily j stages through the | sky, i~ j is, h 
in this re- | spect, p* } fixed, and im- j movable : { 
j — j it is the great j axle of \ heaven, i^a- { bout 
which the | globe we in- J habit Hand j other more | 
I spacious J orbs, i* { wheel their j stated | courses. r» j 
\ mm jm I « *iThe [ sun, r» though { seemingly j small- 
er than the | dial itil- 1 luminates, | —is | more than a [ 
j million times j larger r» \ r»than this j whole ] earth, [ 
| r« on which | so many ] lofty ] mountains { rise, | 
j «*and { such vast j ocean's | roll. | — r» ] —A j line 
ex- j tending from | side to ] sidep* | r* through the j 
J centre, of that re- ] splendent | orb, j — would j measure { 
) more than eight [ hundred | thousand | miles: j — f f 
j — a | girdle r» | formed to go j round its cir- | cumfer- 
ence, h | r» would re- 1 quire na [length of | millions, j 
j mm t~\ r» Were its | solid con- | tents to be | estimated, | 
| p» the ac- | count would over- | whelm our under- [ 
| standings | r»and be j almost be- { yond the power 
of ! language to ex- j press. r» I — p» [ r»» Are we | 
j startled at these re- { ports of phi- | losophy ! r» { 
| — p* J Are we ready to j cry out in a | transport of 
sur- | prise, | i»" How j mighty is the | Being who [ 
j kindled so pro- j digious a | fire ; and | keeps a- I 
j live, Hfrom { age to | age, r» | r»so e- J normous a J 



146 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| mass of | flame!" | — r» | Let us at- | tend our 
philo- 1 sophical { guides, tm | and we shall be | brought 
ac- | quainted | r* with specu- [ lations r* 1 more en- j 
| larged | -and | more in- i flaming. | — r- | -This | 
| sun, Hwith | all its at- 1 tend ant | planets, r* | is but a | 
| very little | part m of the | grand ma- [ chine of the | 
] universe : | — r* i every j star r* | though in ap- J 
J pearance 1 —no [ bigger than | the diamond that | 
J glitters upon a 1 lady's | ring. J —is | really a | vast J 
} globe, | p» like the j sun in ] size, j r»andin| glory; m J 
j « r* | no less J spacious, } — r» | no less J luminous, | 
j r» than the j radiant j source of j day. r» | — p* [ fSo 
that | every [ star, J r*is not | barely a | world, m J 
j r»but the | centre of a mag- j nificent | system j r- | 
) p»*has a | retinue of ( worlds, [ — ir- | radiated ] 
j r*by its { beams, j t^and re- | volving | round its at- | 
J tractive | influence, | — p» j all which are j lost to 
our | sight | r*in un- 1 measurable | wilds of j ether. f | 
j - ^ [ p»That the | stars ap- | pear like j so many 
di- j minutive, | — and | scarcely dis- | tinguishable J 
J points, r* | - is | owing to their im- { mense } and 
incon- J ceivable J distance. r» J — Im- [ mense | and 
incon- 1 ceivable in | deed nit | is, r» | r* since a | ball, r» | 
J shot from the | loaded | cannon, | —and | flying with 
una- | bated ra- | pidity, n» | — must | travel, h at | 
| this impetuous | rate, r* I almost | seven | hundred | 
J thousand | years, j —be- j fore it could J reach the | 
| nearest of these \ twinkling | luminaries, j — I 
| While, be- J holding this | vast ex- | pause, n» [—11 
1 learn h my | own ex- 1 treme | meanness, | i*Iw T ould | 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



147 



| also dis- 1 cover m the | abject | littleness h of j all ter- | 
{ restrial things. | - p* | What is the | earths with | 
| all her | osten- 1 tatious | scenes, | —com- 1 pared with [ 
| this as | tonishing | grand | furniture of the j skies? p» | 
| mm fm | What, nbut a | dim J speck, r* | hardly per- [ 
| ceivable in the | map of the j universe? I — p* I It 
is ob- j served by a | very judicious | writer, p* | p*that 
if the j sun him- | self, which en- \ lightens | this part 
of the ere- 1 ation, p» | p* were ex- J tinguished, j —and [ 
| all the | host of j planetary | worlds, which | move a- [ 
| bout him, J p* were an- | nihilated, [ —they | would 
not be | missed by an | eye that can J take in the [ 
| whole | compass of | nature, p» | —any | more than a [ 
[ grain of j sand | upon the sea- [ shore, p* j — The | j 
[ bulk of | which they con- | sist, p* | p»and the \ space 
which they [ occupy, r» | are so ex- j ceeedingly { 
J little in com- | parison of the | whole, p* | p* that their j 
J loss would | scarcely leave a | blank p* J in the im- j 
j mensity r» | p»of God's | works. r» | | r* [ If then, p* | 
J not our globe [ only, r? | but this whole ] system, p» j 
j be so very di- J minutive r» j - p* J what is a | king- 
dom, J or a | country? p- j — t~ | What are a few [ 
J lordships, I p»orthe [ so much ad- | mired | patrimo- 
nies of | those who are j styled | wealthy ? p. | — p* [ 
j p*When I | measure them | p-with my | own little | 
j pittance, p» | —they ] swell into | proud and [ bloated 
di- | mensions: | -but | when I take the | universe J 
| r-for my | standard, ] —how J scanty is their | size! j 
| - p» | how con- | temptible their j figure! | — p» J 
[ —They j sink j p*into | pompous { nothings. J — p» J 



148 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



TO-MORROW. 
COTTON. 

3 | -To- j morrow, { e didst thou | say ? r* [ - r* | 
| —Me- | thought I | heard Ho- [ ration [ say, r* To- f 
J morrow. { - p* | « Go [ to ; r» j - 1 | will not | hear 
of it— j - r~ [ -To- [ morrow. \ — r» | r» n'Tis a | 
J sharper, i —who | stakes his | penury | — A- j gainst 
thy J plenty — r- | — who j takes thy | ready [ cash, r* j 
| —And | pays thee | nought but | wishes, r- 1 hopes, and { 
| promises, | —The | currency of J idiots — r* | —in- | 
[ jurious i bankrupt, j — That | gulls the J easy \ cre- 
ditor ! r* | — r* j — r» [ —To- ! morrow! j — r- j — r» [ 
J It is a J period J nowhere to be | found j —In J all 
the 1 hoary | registers of I time, r* | — Un- 1 less, *iper- | 
} chance, | p» in the j fool's | calendar, j — r* | — r» | 
J Wisdom j — dis- | claims the j word, r* 1 — nor [ holds 
so- | ciety With | those who } own it. m j « p» | — p. | 
| No, | r* my Ho- J ratio, r- [ -'Tis | Fancy's { child, | 
| —and [ Folly [ p. is its j father; | — p* | Wrought of j 
| such | stuff } — as [ dreams | are, p» | — and j base- 
less | p*As the fan- | tastic \ visions j p-of the | even- 
ing. I — p» | — p* I — But | soft, my | friend — p* | 
| — ar- 1 rest the j present | moment: I — For I be as-| sured j 
f -they ] all are [ arrant | tell-tales : } - p- j —And [ 
| though their | flight be | silent, | r-and their ] path j 
J Trackless | r* as the | winged [ couriers | p» of the { 
| air, { -They | post to j heaven | -and j there re- j 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



149 



j cord thy | folly : i* | -Be- | cause, | -though | sta- 
tioned | on the im- | portant | watch, | Thou, j r*like 
a [ sleeping, | faithless j sentinel, | -Didst | let them j 
j pass un- | noticed, | — r* | unim- | proved. [ — r» | 
| — And | know, j r» for that thou | siumberest j i^on the | 
| guard, r* ] — r-» | Thou shalt be { made to | answer 
at the | bar r* | — for | every | fugitive : | — r* j — and j 
| when thou j thus Shalt | stand im- ] pleaded | r» at 
the | high tri- j bunal Of [ hood-winked j Justice, | 
| mm p. | who shall j tell thy | audit ? | — & | — r* | 
| Then r» | stay the j present | instant, r» | dear Ho- J 
j ratio, f | — Im- ] print the j marks of | wisdom [ 
[ r»on its | wings ; | — r» | r-'Tis of] more | w 7 orth 
than [ kingdoms! | — n» [far more | precious j — Than J 
| all the | crimson J treasures I — of | life's I fountain. { 
| - r» | - i» | 0! | let it not e- | lude thy [ grasp ; | 
l-i-l but, p» | flike The | good old | patriarch | 
[ p* upon | record, [ — r- j Hold the I fleet | angel ( 
j fast J — un- ] til he | bless thee. | — e ] — r» J 



NIGHT THOUGHTS, 
YOUNG. 

Slmc. 

3 | Tir'd J Nature's j sweet re- | storer, { — p» j 

] balmy | Sleep ! | - r» | He, r* 1 1- like the | world, | - his | 

| ready visit | pays, | - Where | fortune | smiles ; | -the | 

j wretched | p. he for- | sakes : j - r» J Swift on his | 

j downy | pinions | flies from J wo, | -And | lights on { 

| lids r» | p-un- 1 sulli'd with a | tear, v* J — r» | i* f 

N 2 



150 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



| — From I short { — (as | usual) r* | and dis- \ 
] turb'd re- | pose, | -I | wake : p» ( — r- | r-how \ 
] happy I they [ — who \ wake no j more ! | — r* | 
| f Yet | that were | vain, | —if | dreams | —in- j 
j fest the I grave. } — r» [ — I \ wake, r» | — e- { merg- 
ing | r- from a J sea of J dreams | — Tu- | multuous; | 
| | where my | wreck'd de- | sponding { thought, j 
| —From { wave to [ wave of [ fancied j misery, j 
| —At [ random | drove, | — he* | helm of [ reason I 
| lost : [ — r* 1 —Though | now re- I stored, | —His [ 
| only j change of | pain, { — (A | bitter j change!) j 
j — se- { verer [ n»for se- [ vere : [ — r» j —The [ day | 
} too j short 1 for my dis- J tress ! r* | —and J night, j 
[ Even in the j zenith of her | dark do- | main, j —Is j 
J sunshine | r*to the j colour of my j fate, r* | — | 

i 1 

J Night, r» | sable | goddess ! | r» from her | ebon [ 
] throne, | — In | rayless | majesty r* j r^now | stretches [ 
] forth Her | leaden | sceptre r» | o'er a | slumbering [ 
J world. | — — j — pm \ Silence, { Miow | dead ! r* j 
J —and j darkness, | — «• [ how pro- | found ! | — r* | 
J —Nor | eye, | —nor [ listening | ear, { — an | object { 
J finds : j -> | - Cre- j ation | sleeps. [ - r- { 'Tis 
as the | general | pulse Of j life r* | stood | still, [ -and | 
j Nature | made a } pause, | - An J awful | pause ! [ 
| "i* I —pro- | phetic | p»of her | end, | — r— J —And [ 
| let her I prophecy | -be [ soon ful- | filled; I - f | 

Very slow. 

J Fate ! r» | drop the | curtain j | - i~ | I j -can | lose 
no | more, r* | - e | - k* | - n» 1 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



151 



SPEECH OF CICERO AGAINST VERRES. 

The time is come, Fathers, when that which has long 
been wished for, towards allaying the envy your order 
has been subject to, and removing the imputations against 
trials, is effectually put in your power. An opinion has 
long prevailed, not only here at home, but likewise in 
foreign countries, both dangerous to you, and pernicious 
to the state,— that, in prosecutions, men of wealth are 
always safe, however clearly convicted. There is now 
to be brought upon his trial before you, to the confusion, 
I hope, of the propagators of this slanderous imputation, 
one whose life and actions condemn him in the opinion of 
all impar tial persons ; but who, according to his own 
reckoning, and declared depondance upon his riches, is 
already acquitted ; I mean Caius Verres. I demand 
justice of you, Fathers, upon the robber of the public 
treasury, the oppressor of Asia Minor and Pamphylia, the 
invader of the rights and privileges of Romans, the scourge 
and curse of Sicily. If that sentence is passed upon him 
which his crimes deserve, your authority, Fathers, will 
be venerable and sacred in the eyes of the public : but if 
his great riches should bias you in his favour, I shall 
still gain one point, — to make it apparent to all the 
world, that what was wanting in this case, was not a 
criminal nor a prosecutor, but justice and adequate 
punishment. 

To pass over the shameful irregularities of his youth, 
what does his quaestorship, the first public employment 



152 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



he held, what does it exhibit, but one continued scene of 
villanies ? Cneius Carbo, plundered of the public money 
by his own treasurer, a consul stripped and betrayed, an 
army deserted and reduced to want, a province robbed, 
the civil and religious rights of a people violated. The 
employment he held in Asia Minor and Pamphylia, what 
did it produce but the ruin of those countries ? in which 
houses, cities, and temples, w 7 ere robbed by him. What 
was his conduct in his prsetorship here at home ? Let 
the plundered temples, and public w orks neglected, that 
he might embezzle the money intended for carrying 
them on, bear witness. How did he discharge the office 
of a judge ? Let those who suffered by his injustice an- 
swer. But his prsetorship in Sicily crowns all his works 
of wickedness, and finishes a lasting monument to his 
infamy. The mischiefs done by him in that unhappy 
country, during the three years of his iniquitous admi- 
nistration, are such, that many years, under the wisest 
and best of praetors, will not be sufficient to restore things 
to the condition in which he found them : for it is noto- 
rious, that, during the time of his tyranny, the Sicilians 
neither enjoyed the protection of their own original laws ; 
of the regulations made for their benefit by the Roman 
senate, upon their coming under the protection of the 
commonwealth ; nor of the natural and unalienable rights 
of men. His nod has decided all causes in Sicily for 
these three years. And his decisions have broken all 
law, all precedent, all right. The sums he has, by ar- 
bitrary taxes and unheard-of impositions, extorted from 
the industrious poor, are not to be computed. The most 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



153 



faithful allies of the commonwealth, have been treated as 
enemies. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to 
death with tortures. The most attrocious criminals, for 
money, have been exempted from the deserved punish- 
ments ; and men of the most unexceptionable characters, 
condemned and banished unheard. The harbours, though 
sufficiently fortified, and the gates of strong towns, have 
been opened to pirates and ravagers. The soldiery and 
sailors, belonging to a province under the protection of 
the commonwealth, have been starved to death ; whole 
fleets, to the great detriment of the province, suffered to 
perish. The ancient monuments of either Sicilian or 
Roman greatness, the statues of heroes and princes, have 
been carried off ; and the temples stripped of the images, 
Having, by his iniquitous sentences, filled the prisons 
with the most industrious and deserving of the people, 
he then proceeded to order numbers of Roman citizens 
to be strangled in the gaols : so that the exclamation, 
"1 am a citizen of Rome \" which has often, in the most 
distant regions, and among the most barbarous people, 
been a protection, was of no service to them ; but, on the 
comrary, brought a speedier and more severe punishment 
upon them. 

I ask now, Verres, wha^Hhou hast to advance against 
this charge ? Wilt thou pretend to deny it ? Wilt thou 
pretend, that any thing false, that even any thing aggra- 
vated, has been urged against thee ? Had any prince, 
or any state, committed the same outrage against the 
privilege of Roman citizens, should we not think we had 
sufficient ground for demanding satisfaction ? What 



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THE KHXTHMICAL READER. 



punishment ought, then, to be inflicted upon a tyrannical 
and wicked praetor, who dared, at no greater distance 
than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to 
the infamous death of crucifixion, that unfortunate and 
innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for 
his having asserted his privilege of citizenship, and de- 
clared his intention of appealing to the justice of his 
country, against the cruel oppressor, who had unjustly 
confined him in prison at Syracuse, whence he had just 
made his escape ? The unhappy man, arrested as he 
was going to embark for his native country, is brought 
before the wicked prsetor. With eyes darting fury, and 
a countenance distorted with cruelty, he orders the help- 
less victim of his rage to be stripped, and rods to be 
brought : accusing him, but without the least shadow of 
evidence, or even of suspicion, of having come to Sicily 
as a spy. It was in vain that the unhappy man cried 
out, "lama Roman citizen : I have served under Lu- 
cius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and will attest my 
innocence." The blood-thirsty praetor, deaf to all he 
could urge in his own defence, ordered the infamous 
punishment to be inflicted. Thus, Fathers, was an in- 
nocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with scourging ; 
whilst the only words he uttered, amidst his cruel suf- 
ferings, were, " I am a Roman citizen !" With these he 
hoped to defend himself from violence and infamy. But 
of so little service was this privilege to him, that, while 
he was thus asserting his citizenship, the order was given 
for his execution, — for his execution upon the cross ! 
liberty ! — sound once delightful to every Roman 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



155 



ear ! sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! — once 
sacred ! — now trampled upon ! — But what then ! Is it 
come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, 
who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Ro- 
man province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture 
with fire and red hot plates of iron, and at last put to the 
infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen ? Shall 
neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the 
tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman 
commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, 
restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, 
who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of 
liberty, and sets mankind at defiance? 

I conclude with expressing my hopes, that your wis- 
dom and justice, Fathers, will not, by suffering the atro- 
cious and unexampled insolence of Caius Verres to es- 
cape due punishment, leave room to apprehend the dan- 
ger of a total subversion of authority, and the introduction 
of general anarchy and confusion. 



SPEECH OF ADHERBAL TO THE ROMAN SENATE, IM- 
PLORING THEIR PROTECTION AGAINST JUGURTHA. 

3PATHERS ! 

It is known to you, that king Micipsa, my father, on 
his death-bed, left in charge to Jugurtha, his adopted 
son, conjunctly with my unfortunate brother, Hiempsal, 
and myself, the children of his own body, the administra- 
tion of the kingdom of Numidia, directing us to consider 
the senate and people of Rome as proprietors of it. He 



156 



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charged us to use our best endeavours to be serviceable 
to the Roman commonwealth ; assuring us that your 
protection weuld prove a defence against all enemies ; 
and would be instead of armies, fortifications and trea- 
sures. 

While my brother and I were thinking of nothing but 
how to regulate ourselves according to the directions of 
our deceased father — Jugurtha — the most infamous of 
mankind ! — breaking through all the ties of gratitude 
and of common humanity, and trampling on the authority 
of the Roman commonwealth, procured the murder of my 
unfortunate brother ; and has driven me from my throne 
and native country, though he knows I inherit, from my 
grandfather, Massinissa, and my father, Micipsa, the 
friendship and alliance of the Romans. 

For a prince to be reduced, by villainy, to my dis- 
tressful circumstances, is calamity enough ; but my mis- 
fortunes are heightened by the consideration — that I find 
myself obliged to solicit your assistance, Fathers, for the 
services done you by my ancestors, not for any I have 
been able to render you in my own person. Jugurtha 
has put it out of my power to deserve any thing at your 
hands ; and has forced me to be burdensome, before I 
could be useful to you. And yet, if I had no plea, but 
my undeserved misery — a once powerful prince, the de- 
scendant of a race of illustrious monarchs, now, without 
any fault of my own, destitute of every support, and re- 
duced to the necessity of begging foreign assistance, 
against an enemy who has seized my throne and my 
kingdom — if my unequalled distresses were all I had to 



THE KHYTHMICAX READER. 



157 



plead — it would become the greatness of the Roman com- 
monwealth, to protect the injured, and to check the tri- 
umph of daring wickedness over helpless innocence. But, 
to provoke your resentment to the utmost, Jugurtha has 
driven me from the very dominions which the senate and 
people of Rome gave to my ancestors ; and from which 
my grandfather and my father, under your umbrage, ex- 
pelled Syphax and the Carthaginians. Thus, Fathers* 
your kindness to our family is defeated; and Jugurtha, 
in injuring me, throws contempt upon you. 

wretched prince ! Oh cruel reverse of fortune ! Oh 
father Micipsa ! is this the consequence of thy generosity; 
that he, whom thy goodness raised to an equality with 
thy own children, should be the murderer of thy children ? 
Must, then, the royal house of Numidia always be a 
scene of havoc and blood ? While Carthage remained, 
we suffered, as w r as to be expected, all sorts of hardships 
from their hostile attacks ; our enemy near ; our only 
powerful ally, the Roman commonwealth, at a distance. 
When that scourge of Africa was no more, we congratu- 
lated ourselves on the prospect of established peace. 
But, instead of peace, behold the kingdom of Numidia 
drenched with royal blood ! and the only surviving son 
of its late king, flying from an adopted murderer, and 
seeking that safety in foreign parts, which he cannot 
command in his own kingdom. 

Whither — Oh ! whither shall I fly ? If I return to the 
royal palace of my ancestors, my father's throne is seized 
by the murderer of my brother. What can I there ex- 
pect? but that Jugurtha should hasten to imbrue, in my 

O 



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THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



blood, those hands which are now reeking with my bro- 
ther's ? If I were to fly for refuge or for assistance to 
any other court, from what prince can I hope for protec- 
tion, if the Roman commonwealth give me up ? From 
my own family or friends I have no expectations. My 
royal father is no more. He is beyond the reach of vio- 
lence, and out of hearing of the complaints of his unhap- 
py son. Were my brother alive, our mutual sympathy 
would be some alleviation. But he is hurried out of life, 
in his early youth, by the very hand which should have 
been the last to injure any of the royal family of Numi- 
dia. The bloody Jugurtha has butchered all whom he 
suspected to be in my interest. Some have been destroy- 
ed by the lingering torment of the cross. Others have 
been given a prey to wild beasts, and their anguish made 
the sport of men more cruel than wild beasts. If there 
be any yet alive, they are shut up in dungeons, there to 
drag out a life more intolerable than death itself. 

Look down, illustrious senators of Rome ! from that 
height of power to which you are raised, on the unexam- 
pled distresses of a prince, who is, by the cruelty of a 
wicked intruder, become an outcast from all mankind. 
Let not the crafty insinuations of him who returns mur- 
der for adoption, prejudice your judgment Do not listen 
to the wretch who has butchered the son and relations of 
a king who gave him power to sit on the same throne with 
his own sons. I have been informed that he labours, by 
his emissaries, to prevent your determining any thing 
against him in his absence ; pretending that I magnify 
my distress, and might, for him, have staid in peace in 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



159 



my own kingdom. But, if ever the time comes, when 
the due vengeance from above shall overtake him, he 
w ill then dissemble as I do. Then he, who now, hard- 
ened in wickedness, triumphs over those whom his vio- 
lence has laid low, will, in his turn, feel distress, and 
suffer for his impious ingratitude to my father, and his 
blood-thirsty cruelty to my brother. 

Oh murdered, butchered brother ! Oh dearest to my 
heart — now gone forever from my sight ! — but why 
should I lament his death ? He is, indeed, deprived of 
the blessed light of heaven, of life, and kingdom, at once, 
by the very person who ought to have been the first to 
hazard his own life in defence of any one of Micipsa's 
family. But, as things are, my brother is not so much 
deprived of these comforts, as delivered from terror, 
from flight, from exile, and the endless train of miseries 
which render life to me a burden. He lies full low, 
gored with w ounds, and festering in his own blood. But 
he lies in peace. He feels none of the miseries which 
rend my soul with agony and distraction, while I am set 
up a spectacle to all mankind, of the uncertainty of human 
affairs. So far from having it in my power to punish his 
murderer, I am not master of the means of securing my 
own life. So far from being in a condition to defend my 
kingdom from the violence of the usurper, I am obliged 
to apply for foreign protection for my own person. 

Fathers ! Senators of Rome ! the arbiters of nations ! 
to you I fly for refuge from the murderous fury of Jugur- 
tha. By your affection for your children ; by your love 
for your country ; by your own virtues ; by the majesty 



160 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



of the Roman commonwealth ; by all that is sacred, and 
all that is dear to you — deliver a wretched prince from 
undeserved, unprovoked injury ; and save the kingdom 
of Numidia, which is your own property, from being the 
prey of violence, usurpation, and cruelty. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD EDUCATION, 
ADDISON. 

I consider a human soul, without education, like mar- 
ble in the quarry : which shows none of its inherent beau- 
ties, until the skill of the polisher fetches out the co- 
lours, makes the surface shine, and discovers every or- 
namental cloud, spot and vein, that runs through the 
body of it. Education, after the same manner, when it 
works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent 
virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are 
never able to make their appearance. 

If my reader will give me leave to change the allusion so 
soon upon him, I shall make use of the same instance to 
illustrate the force of education, which Aristotle has 
brought to explain his doctrine of substantial forms, 
when he tells us, that a statue lies hid in a block of mar- 
ble ; and that the art of the statuary only clears away 
the superfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The 
figure is in the stone, and the sculptor only finds it. 
What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to a 
human soul. The philosopher, the saint, or the hero, 
the wise, the good, or the great man, very often lies hid 
and concealed in a plebian, which a proper education 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



161 



might have disinterred, and have brought to light. I 
am, therefore, much delighted with reading the accounts 
of savage nations \ and with contemplating those virtues 
which are wild and uncultivated : to see courage exerting 
itself in fierceness, resolution in obstinacy, wisdom in 
cunning, patience in sullenness and despair. 

Men's passions operate variously, and appear in dif- 
ferent kinds of actions, according as they are more or 
less rectified and swayed by reason, When one hears of 
negroes, who, upon the death of their masters, or upon 
changing their service, hang themselves upon the next 
tree, as it sometimes happens in our American plantations, 
who can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it ex- 
presses itself in so dreadful a manner ? What might not 
that savage greatness of soul, which appears in these 
poor wretches on many occasions, be raised to, were it 
rightly cultivated ? And what colour of excuse can there 
be, for the contempt with which we treat this part of our 
species j that we should not put them upon the common 
foot of humanity ; that we should only set an insignifi- 
cant fine upon the man who murders them ; nay, that we 
should, as much as in us lies, cut them off from the pros- 
pects of happiness in another world, as well as in this ; 
and deny them that which we look upon as the proper 
means for attaining it ? 

It is therefore an unspeakable blessing, to be born in 
those parts of the world, where wisdom and knowledge 
flourish ; though, it must be confessed, there are, even in 
(-hese parts, several poor, uninstructed persons, who are 

but little above the inhabitants of those nations of which 

O 2 



162 THE RHYTHMIC Ai REAfr'M* 

I have been here speaking ; as those who have had the 
advantages of a more liberal education, rise above one 
another by several different degrees of perfection. For* 
to return to our statue in the block of marble, we see it 
sometimes only begun to be chipped, sometimes rough 
hewn, and but just sketched into a human figure j some- 
times we seethe man appearing distinctly in all his limbs 
and features ; sometimes we find the figure wrought up 
to great elegancy ; but seldom meet with any to which 
the hand of a Phidias or a Praxiteles could not give seve^ 
ral nice touches and finishings. 

MOTIVES TO THE PRACTICE OF GENTLENESS 
BLAIR. 

To promote the virtue of gentleness, we ought to view 
our character with an impartial eye ; and to learn, from 
our own failings, to give that indulgence which in our 
turn we claim. It is pride which fills the world with so 
much harshness and severity. In the fulness of self-es- 
timation, we forget what we are. We claim attentions 
to which we are not entitled. We are rigorous to offen- 
ces, as if we had never offended ; unfeeling to distress, 
as if wc knew not what it was to suffer. From those airy 
regions of pride and folly, let us descend to our proper 
level. Let us survey the natural equality on which Pro- 
vidence has placed man with man, and reflect on the 
infirmities common to all. If the reflection on natural 
equality and mutual offences, be insufficient to prompt 
humanity, let us at least remember what we are in the 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



163 



sight of our creator. Have we none of that forbearance 
to give one another* which we all so earnestly entreat 
from heaven ? Can we look for clemency or gentleness 
from our Judge, when we are so backward to show it to 
our own brethren I 

Let us also accustom ourselves to reflect on the small 
moment of those things which are the usual incentives to 
violence and contention. In the ruffled and angry hour, 
we view every appearauce through a false medium. The 
most inconsiderable point of interest or honour, swells 
into a momentous object ; and the slightest attack seems 
to threaten immediate ruin. But after passion or pride 
has subsided, we look around in vain for the mighty mis- 
chiefs we dreaded. The fabric, which our disturbed 
imagination had reared, totally disappears. But though 
the cause of contention has dwindled away, its consequen- 
ces remain. We have alienated a friend ; we have em- 
bittered an enemy ; we have sown the seeds of future sus- 
picion, malevolence, or disgust— Let us suspend our 
violence for a moment, when causes of discord occur e 
Let us anticipate that period of coolness* which, of it- 
self, will soon arrive. Let us reflect how little we have 
any prospect of gaining by fierce contention ; but how 
much of the trus happiness of life w r e are certain of throw- 
ing away. Easily, and from the smallest chink, the 
bitter waters of strife are let forth ; but their course can- 
not be forseen ; and he seldom fails of suffering most from 
their poisonous effect, who first allows them to flow. 



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THE RHYTHMIC AB READER. 



A SUSPICIOUS TEMPER THE SOURCE OF MISERY TO ITS 
POSSESSOR. * 

BLAIR. 

As a suspicious spirit is the source of many crimes and 
calamities in the world, so it is the spring of certain 
misery to the person who indulges it. His friends will 
be few ; and small will be his comfort in those whom he 
possesses. Believing others to be his enemies, he will 
of course make them such. Let his caution be ever so 
great, the asperity of his thoughts will often break out in 
his behaviour; and in return for suspecting and hating, 
be will incur suspicion and hatred. Besides the external 
evils which he draws upon himself, arising from alienated 
friendship, broken confidence, and open enmity, the sus- 
picious temper itself is one of the worst evils which any 
man can suffer. If " in all fear there is torment," how 
miserable must be his state, who, by living in per- 
petual jealousy, lives in perpetual dread ! Looking upon 
himself to be surrounded with spies, enemies, and de- 
signing men, he is a stranger to reliance and trust. He 
knows not to whom to open himself. He dresses his 
countenance in forced smiles, while his heart throbs with- 
in from apprehensions of secret treachery. Hence fret- 
fulness and ill-humour, disgust at the world, and all the 
painful sensations of an irritated and embittered mind. 

So numerous and great are the evils arising from a 
suspicious disposition, that, of the two extremes, it is 
more eligible to expose ourselves to occasional disadvan- 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



165 



tage from thinking too well of others, than to suffer con- 
tinual misery by thinking always ill of them. It is bet- 
ter to be sometimes imposed upon, than never to trust. 
Safety is purchased at too dear a rate, when, in order to 
secure it, we are obliged to be always clad in armour, 
and to live in perpetual hostility with our fellows. This 
is, for the sake of living, to deprive ourselves of the com- 
fort of life. The man of candour enjoys his situation, 
whatever it is, with cheerfulness and peace. Prudence 
directs his intercourse with the world ; but no black sus- 
picions haunt his hours of rest. Accustomed to view the 
characters of his neighbours in the most favourable light, 
he is like one who dwells amidst those beautiful scenes of 
nature, on w hich the eye rests with pleasure. Whereas, 
the suspicous man, having his imagination filled with all 
the shocking forms of human falsehood, deceit, and 
treachery, resembles the traveller in the wilderness, w ho 
discerns no objects abound him but such as are either 
dreary or terrible ; caverns that yawn, serpents that hiss, 
and beasts of prey Jhat howl. 



ON THE IMPORTANCE OF ORDER IN THE DISTRIBUTION 
OF OUR TIME. 

BLAIR. 

Time we ought to consider as a sacred trust commit- 
ted to us by God ; of which we are now the depositaries, 
and are to render an account at the last. That portion 
of it which he has allotted to us, is intended partly for the 
concerns of this world, partly for those of the next. Let 



166 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



each of these occupy, in the distribution of our time, that 
space which properly belongs to it. Let not the hours 
of hospitality and pleasure, interfere with the discharge 
of our necessary affairs ; and let not what we call neces- 
sary affairs, encroach upon the time which is due to de- 
votion. To every thing there is a season, and a time 
for every purpose under heaven. If we delay till tomor- 
row what ought to be done to-day, we overcharge the 
morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. We load 
the wheels of time, and prevent them from carrying us 
along smoothly. He who every morning plans the 
transactions of the day, and follows out that plan, carries 
on a thread which will guide him through the labyrinth 
of the most busy life. The orderly arrangement of his 
time is like a ray of light, which darts itself through all 
his affairs. But, where no plan is laid, where the dis- 
posal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of inci- 
dents, all things lie huddled together in one chaos, which 
admits neither of distribution nor review. 

The first requisite for introducing order into the ma- 
nagement of time, is, to be impressed with a just sense of 
its value. Let us consider well how much depends upon 
it, and how fast it flies away. The bulk of men are in 
nothing more capricious and inconsistent, than in their 
appreciation of time. When they think of it as the mea- 
sure of their continuance on earth, they highly prize it, 
and with the greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it out. 
But when they view it in separate parcels, they appear to 
hold it in contempt, and squander it with inconsiderate 
profusion. While they complain that life is short, they 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



167 



are often wishing its different periods at an end. Covet- 
ous of every other possession, of time only they are pro- 
digal. They allow every idle man to be master of this 
property, and make every frivolous occupation welcome 
that can help them to consume it. Among those who are 
so careless of time, it is not to be expected that order 
should be observed in its distribution. But, by this fa- 
tal neglect, how many materials of severe and lasting 
regret are they laying up in store for themselves ! The 
time which they suffer to pass away in the midst of con- 
fusion, bitter repentance seeks afterwards in vain to re- 
call. What was omitted to be done at its proper moment, 
arises to be the torment of some future season. Man- 
hood is disgraced by the consequences of neglected youth. 
Old age, oppressed by cares that belonged to a former 
period, labours under a burden not its own. At the close 
of life, the dying man beholds with anguish that his days 
are finishing, when his preparation for eternity is hardly 
commenced. Such are the effects of a disorderly 
waste of time, through not attending to its value. Every 
thing in the life of such persons is misplaced. Nothing 
is performed aright, from not being performed in due 
season. 

But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time, 
takes the proper method of escaping those manifold evils. 
He is justly said to redeem the time. By proper ma- 

I nagement, he prolongs it. He lives much in little space ; 

i more in a few years, than others do in many. He can 
live to God and his own soul, and, at the same time, at- 
tend to all the lawful interests of the present world. He 



168 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

looks back on the past, and provides for the future. He 
catches and arrests the hours as they fly. They are 
marked down for useful purposes, and their memory re- 
mains. Whereas those hours fleet by the man of confu- 
sion like a shadow. His days and years are either blanks, 
of which he has no remembrance, or they are filled up 
with so confused and irregular a succession of unfinished 
transactions, that though he remembers he has been busy, 
yet he can give no account of the business which has em- 
ployed him. 

THE JOURNEY OF A DAY; A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE 
jOHjrsosr. 

Obibah the son of Abensina, left the caravansera 
early in the morning, and pursued his journey through 
the plains of Indostan. He w r as fresh and vigorous with 
rest ; he was animated with hope ; he was incited by de- 
sire ; he walked swiftly forward over the vallies, and saw 
the hills gradually rising before him. As he passed 
along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of 
the bird of Paradise ; he was fanned by the last flutters 
of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves 
of spices. He sometimes contemplated the towering height 
of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the 
gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the 
spring : and all his senses were gratified, and all care 
was banished from his heart. 

Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, 
and the increased heat preyed upon his strength; he 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



169 



then looked round about him for some more commodious 
path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed 
to wave its shades as a sign of invitation ; he entered it, 
and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. 
He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling; 
but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which 
appeared to have the same direction with the main road ; 
and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had 
found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain 
the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues. 
He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without 
the least remission of his ardour, except that he was 
sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, 
which the heat had assembled in the shade; and some- 
times amused himself with plucking the flowers that 
covered the banks on either side, or the fruit that hung 
upon the branches. At fast, the green path began to 
decline from its first tendency, and to wind among hills 
and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with 
'waterfalls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began 
to consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the 
known and common track ; but remembering that the 
heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain 
was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new 
path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, 
in compliance with the varieties of the ground, and to 
end at last in the common road. 

Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, 
though he suspected that he was not gaining ground. 

This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on 

P 



170 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



every new object, and give way to every sensation that 
might sooth or divert him. He listened to every echo; 
he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect ; he turned 
aside to every cascade; and pleased himself with tracing 
the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, 
and watered a large region with innumerable circumvo- 
lutions. In these amusements, the hours passed away 
unaccounted; his deviations had perplexed his memory, 
and he knew not towards what point to travel. He 
stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he 
should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering 
was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncer- 
tainty, the sky was overspread with clouds; theday vanish- 
ed from before him; and a sudden tempest gathered round 
his head. He was now roused by his danger to a quick 
and painful remembrance of his folly ; he now saw how 
happiness is lost when ease is consulted; he lamented the 
unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter 
in the grove; and despised the petty curiosity that led him 
on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting the 
air grew blacker, aud a clap of thunder broke his medi- 
tation. 

He now 7 resolved to do what yet remained in his power, 
to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try 
to find some issue where the wood might open into the 
plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, and recom- 
mended his life to the Lord of Nature. He rose with 
confidence and tranquillity, and pressed on with resolu- 
tion. The beasts of the desert were in motion, and on 
every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



171 



fear, ami ravage and expiration. All the horrors of dark- 
ness and solitude surrounded him : the winds roared in 
the woods ; and the torrents tumbled from the hills. 

Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the 
wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether 
he was every moment drawing nearer to safety, or to 
destruction. At length, not fear, but labour, began to 
overcome him ; his breath grew short, and his knees 
trembled ; and he was on the point of lying down in re- 
signation to bis fate, when he beheld, through the bram- 
bles, the glimmer of a taper. He advanced towards the 
light ; and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a 
hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained ad- 
mission. The old man set before him such provisions as 
he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with 
eagerness and gratitude. 

When the repast was over, " Tell me," said the her- 
mit, *'by what chance thou hast been brought hither. 
I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wil- 
derness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah 
then related the occurrences of his journey, without any 
concealment or palliation. 

" Son," said the hermit, S( let the errors and follies, 
the dangers and escape of this day, sink deep into thy 
heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the jour- 
ney of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of 
vigour, and full of expectation; we set forward with 
spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and tra- 
vel on awhile in the direct road of piety, towards the 
mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervour, 



172 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, and 
some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We 
then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terri- 
fied with crimes at a distance ; but rely upon our own 
constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve ne- 
ver to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and re- 
pose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, 
and vigilance subsides ; we are then willing to inquire 
whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we 
may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the garden of plea- 
sure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation ; we 
enter them, but enter timorous and trembling ; and always 
hope to pass through them without losing the road of 
virtue, which, for a while, we keep in our sight, and to 
which we purpose to return : but temptation succeeds 
temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another ; 
we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our 
disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let 
fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit 
the only adequate object of rational desire. We entan- 
gle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, 
and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy ; till the 
darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and 
anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our 
lives with horror, with sorrow, with repentance ; and 
wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken 
the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my son, who shall 
learn from thy example, not to despair but shall re- 
member that, though the day is past, and their strength 
is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made : that 



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173 



reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours 
ever unassisted ; that the wanderer may at length return 
after all his errors ; and that he who implores strength 
and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty 
give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose ; 
commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and when 
the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey 
and thy life." 



OMNISCIENCE AND OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY, THE 
SOURCE OF CONSOLATION TO GOOD MEN. 

ADDISON. 

I was yesterday, about sun-set, walking in the open 
fields, till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first 
amused myself with all the richness and variety of co- 
lours, which appeared in the western parts of heaven. In 
proportion as they faded away and went out, several stars 
and planets appeared one after another, till the whole 
firmament was in a glow. The blueness of the ether was 
exceedingly heightened and enlivened, by the season of 
the year, and the rays of all those luminaries that passed 
through it. The galaxy appeared in its most beautiful 
white. To complete the scene, the full moon rose, at 
length, in that clouded majesty which Milton takes no- 
tice of; and opened to the eye a new picture of nature, 
which w as more finely shaded, and disposed among soft> 
er lights than that which the sun had before discovered 
to us. 

As I was surveying the moon walking in her bright- 

P2 



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nesss, and taking her progress among the constellations* 
a thought arose in me, which I believe very often per- 
plexes and disturbs men of serious and contemplative na- 
tures. David himself fell into it in that reflection, 
"When I consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers ; 
the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained ; what 
is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man 
that thou regardest him l" In the same manner, when 
I considered that infinite host of stars, or to speak more 
philosophically, of suns, which were then shining upon 
me ; with those innumerable sets of planets or worlds, 
which were moving round their respective suns ; when I 
still enlarged the idea, and supposed another heaven of 
suns and worlds, rising still above this which we disco- 
vered ; and these still enlightened by a superior firma- 
ment of luminaries, which are planted at so great a dis- 
tance, that they may appear to the inhabitants of the for- 
mer, as the stars do to us : in short, while I pursued this 
thought, I could not but reflect on that little insignificant 
figure which I myself bore amidst the immensity of God's 
works. 

Were the sun, which enlightens this part of the crea- 
tion, with all the host of planetary worlds that move 
about him, utterly extinguished and annihilated, they 
would not be missed more than a grain of sand upon the 
sea-shore. The space they posses is so exceedingly lit- 
tle in comparison of the whole, it would scarcely make a 
blank in the creation. The chasm would be impercepti- 
ble to an eye that could take in the whole compass of 
nature, and pass from one end of the creation to the other ,• 



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as it is possible there may be such a sense in ourselves 
hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more ex- 
alted than ourselves. By the help of glasses, we see 
many stars, which we do not discover with our naked 
eyes % and the finer our telescopes are, the more still are 
our discoveries. — Huygenius carries this thought so far, 
that he does not think it impossible that there may be 
stars, whose light has not yet travelled down to us, since 
their first creation. There is no question that the uni- 
verse has certain bounds set to it ; but when we consi- 
der that it is the work of Infinite Power, prompted by 
Infinite Goodness, with an infinite space to exert itself 
in, how can our imaginations set any bounds to it ? 

To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could not 
but look upon myself with secret horror, as a being that 
was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so 
great a work under his care and superintendency. I was 
afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of na- 
ture : and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, 
which, in all probability, swarm through all these im- 
measurable regions of matter. 

In order to recover myself from this mortifying 
thought, I considered that it took its rise from those nar- 
row 7 conceptions, which we are apt to entertain of the 
Divine Nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many dif- 
ferent objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect 
some things, we must, of course, neglect others. This 
imperfection which, we observe in ourselves, is an im- 
perfection that cleaves, in some degree, to the highest ca- 
pacities, as they are creatures, that is, beings of finite 



176 



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and limited natures. The presence of every created being 
is confined to a certain measure of space ; and conse- 
quently his observation is stinted to a certain number of 
objects. The sphere in which we move, and act, and 
understand, is of a wider circumference to one creature, 
than another, according as we rise one above another in 
the scale of existence. But die widest of these our 
spheres has its circumference. When, therefore, we re- 
flect on the Divine Nature, we are so used and accustom- 
ed to this imperfection in ourselves, that v\e cannot for- 
bear, in some measure, ascribing it to him, in whom 
there is no shadow of imperfection. Our reason, indeed, 
assures us, that his attributes are infinite ; but the poor- 
ness of our conceptions is such, that il cannot forbear set- 
ting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till our rea- 
son comes again to our succour, and throws down all 
those little prejudices which rise in us unawares, and are 
natural to the mind of man. 

We shall, therefore, utterly extinguish this melancholy 
thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker, in the 
multiplicity of his works, and the infinity of those ob- 
jects, among which he seems to be incess n?iy employed, 
if we consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent ; 
and, in the second, that he is omniscient. 

If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being passes 
through, actuates, and supports, the whole frame of 
nature. His creation, in every part of it, is full of him. 
There is nothing he has made, which is either so distant, 
so little, or so inconsiderable, that he does not essentially 
reside in it. His substance is within the substance of 



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177 



every being, whether material or immaterial, and as in- 
timately present to it, as that being is to itself. It would 
be an imperfection in him, were he able to move out of 
one place into another ; or to withdraw himself from any 
thing he has created, or from any part of that space 
which he diffused and spread abroad to infinity. In 
short, to speak of him in the language of the old philoso- j 
pliers, he is a Being whose centre is every where, and his 
circumference no where. 

In the second place, he is omniscient, as well as omni- 
present. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and na- 
turally, flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but be 
conscious of every motion that arises in the whole mate- 
rial world, which he thus essentially pervades ; and of 
every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, 
to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Were 
the soul separated from the body, and should it, with one 
glance of thought, start beyond the bounds of the creation ; 
should it for millions of years, continue its progress 
through infinite space, with the same activity, it would 
still find itself within the embrace of its Creator, and en- 
compassed by the immensity of the Godhead. 

In this consideration of the Almighty's omnipresence 
and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. 
He cannot but regard every thing that has being, espe- 
cially such of his creatures who fear they are not regard- 
ed by him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that 
anxiety of heart, in particular, which is apt to trouble 
them on this occasion ; for, as it is impossible he should 
overlook any of his creatures, so we may be confident 



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that he regards, with an eye of mercy, those who endea- 
vour to recommend themselves to his notice; and in un- 
feigned humility of heart, think themselves unworthy 
that he should be mindful of them. 

DAVID'S CONFIDENCE IN GOD S GRACE. 
PSALM XXIII. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He 
maketh me to lie dow T n in green pastures : he leadeth me 
beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul : he lead- 
eth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. 
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death, I will fear no evil : for thou art with me; thy rod 
and thy staff they comfort me. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of 
mine enemies : thou anointest my head with oil ; my rup 
runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow 
me all the days of my life ; and I will dwell in the house 
of the Lord for ever. 

THE BANEFUL INFLUENCES OF THAT SCEPTICAL PHI- 
LOSOPHY, WHICH BARS US FROM THE COMFORTS OF 
A BELIEF IN A FUTURE STATE. 

CAMPBELL. 

Oh ! lives there, Heaven ! beneath thy dread expanse, 
One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance, 
Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined, 
The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; 



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Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, 

In joyless union wedded to the dust, 

Could all his parting energy dismiss, 

And call this barren world sufficient bliss ? — 

There live, alas ! of Heaven-directed mien, 

Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, 

Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day, 

Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay ! 

Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 

Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower! 

A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 

Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 

Lights to the grave his chance-created form, 

As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm ; 

And when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 

To Night and Silence sink for ever more ! — 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 

Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ? 

Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 

Children of Truth, and champions of her cause ? 

For this hath Science searched, on weary wing, 

By shore and sea — each mute and living thing ? 

Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 

To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep ? 

Or round the cope her living chariot driven, 

And wheeled in triumph through the signs of Heaven ? 

Oh ! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there, 

To waft us home the message of despair ? 

Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow r to suit, 

Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! 



180 THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



Ah me ! the laurelled wreath that murder rears, 

Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears, 

Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 

As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. 

What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain ? 

I smile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain ! 

But, if the warring wins of Nature's strife 

Be all the faithless charter of my life, 

If Chance awaked, inexorable power ! 

This frail and feverish being of an hour, 

Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, 

Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 

To know Delight but by her parting smile, 

And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while ; 

Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain 

This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! 

Fade, ye wild-flowers, memorials of my doom ! 

And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 

Truth, ever lovely, since the world began, 

The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,— 

How can thy words from balmy slumber start, 

Reposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart ! 

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled, 

And that were true which Nature never told, 

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field j 

No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed ! 

Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 

The doom that bars us from a better fate ; 

But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, 

Weep to record, and blush to give it in. 



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181 



WE OFTEN CONDEMN IN OTHERS WHAT WE PRACTICE 
OURSELVES. 

The two Robbers. 

DR. AIKIN. 

Jllezander the Groat in his tent. A man, with a fierce countenance, chained 
and fettered, brought before him. 

Alexander. What ! art thou the Thracian robber, of 
whose exploits I have heard so much ? 

Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. 

•Alexander. A soldier ! — a thief, a plunderer, an assas- 
sin ! the pest of the country ! I could honour thy courage, 
but I must detest and punish thy crimes. 

Robber. What have I done of which you can complain ? 

•Alexander. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority ; 
violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring 
the persons and property of thy fellow subjects ? 

Robber. Alexander ! I am your captive — I must hear 
what you please to say, and endure what you please to 
inflict. But my soul is unconquered ; and if I reply at 
all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. 

Alexander. Speak freely. Far be it from me to take 
the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom 
I deign to converse ! 

Robber. I must then answer your question by another. 
How have you passed your life ? 

Alexander, Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell 
you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest ; among 
sovereigns, the noblest ; among conquerors, the mightiest 

Q 



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Robber. And does not Fame speak of me too ? Was 
there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? Was 
there ever — but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that 
I have not been easily subdued. 

Alexander. Still, what art thou, but a robber — a base 
dishonest robber ? 

Robber. And what is a conqueror ? Have not you, too, 
gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair 
fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, kill- 
ing, without law, without justice, merely to gratify an 
insatiable lust for dominion ? All that I have done to a 
single district, with a hundred followers, you have done 
to whole nations, with a hundred thousand. If I have 
stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. 
If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the 
most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What 
is then the difference, but that, as you were born a king, 
and I a private man, you have been able to become a 
mightier robber than I ? 

Alexander. But if I have taken like a king, I have 
given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have 
founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and 
philosophy. 

Robber. I, too, have freely given to the poor, what I 
took from the rich. I have established order and disci- 
pline among the most ferocious of mankind ; and have 
stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I 
know, indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of ; but 
I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world, 
for half the mischief we have done it. 



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183 



Alexander. Leave me — take off his chains, and use him 
well.— Are we then so much alike ? — Alexander to a 
robber ? — Let me reflect. 

VIRTUE IN HUMBLE LIFE. 
DODD. 

Virtue and goodness are confined to no station : and 
wherever they arc discovered, they command respect. 

Perrin, the amiable subject of this narrative, lost both 
his psirerits before he could articulate their names, and 
was obliged to a charity school for his education. At 
the age of fifteen he was hired by a farmer to be a shep- 
herd, in a neighbourhood where Lucetta kept her father's 
sheep. They often met, and were fond of being together. 
After an acquaintance of five years, in which they had 
many opportunities of becoming thoroughly known to 
each other, Perrin proposed to Lucetta, to ask her 
father's consent to their marriage : she blushed, and did 
not refuse her approbation. 

As she had an errand to the town next day. the oppor- 
tunity of her absence was chosen for making the propo- 
sal. "You wish to marry my daughter," said the old 
man : have you a house to cover her, or money to main- 
tain her? Lucetta's fortune is not enough for both. It 
will not do, Perrin; it will not do." " But," replied 
Perrin, " I have hands to work : I have laid up twenty 
crowns of my wages, which will defray the expense of 
the wedding : I will work harder, and lay up more." 
^ Well," said the old man, "you are young, and may 



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wait a little : get rich, and my daughter is at your ser- 
vice." Perrin waited for Lucetta's return in the evening. 

u Has my father given you a refusal V 9 cried Lucetta. 
u Ah, Lucetta, 99 replied Perrin, " how unhappy am I for 
being poor ! But I have not lost all hopes : my circum- 
stances may change for the better." As they were never 
tired of conversing together, the night approached, and 
it became dark. Perrin, making a false step, fell on the 
ground. He found a bag, which was heavy. Drawing 
towards a light in the neighbourhood, he discovered that 
it was filled with gold. "I thank heaven," cries Per- 
rin, in a transport of joy, " for being favourable to our 
wishes. This will satisfy your father, and make us 
happy." In their way to her father's house, a thought 
struck Perrin. "This money is not ours, it belongs to 
some stranger; and perhaps this moment he is lament- 
ing the loss of it ; let us go to the vicar for advice : he 
has always been kind to me." 

Perrin put the bag into the vicar's hand, saying, " that 
at first he looked on it as a providential present to 
remove the only obstacle to their marriage; but that 
he now doubted whether he could lawfully retain it." 
The vicar eyed the young couple with attention : he ad- 
mired their honesty, which appeared even to surpass their 
affection. " Perrin," said he, " cherish these sentiments : 
Heaven will bless you. We will endeavour to find out 
the owner: he will reward thy honesty : I will add what 
I can spare. You shall have Lucetta." 

The bag was advertised in the newspapers, and cried 
in the neighbouring parishes. Some time having elapsed, 



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185 



and the money not having been demanded, the vicar car- 
ried it to Perrin. "These- twelve thousand livres bear 
at present no profit : you may reap the interest, at least. 
Lay them out in such a manner, as to insure the sum 
itself to the owner, if he should ever appear. " A farm 
was purchased, and the consent of Lucetta's father to the 
marriage was obtained. Perrin was employed in hus- 
bandry, and Lucetta in family affairs. They lived in 
perfect cordiality : and two children endeared them still 
more to each other. 

Perrin, one evening returning homeward from his 
work, skw a chaise overturned with two gentlemen in it. 
He ran to their assistance, and offered them every accom- 
modation his small house could afford. "This spot," 
cried one of the gentlemen, " is very fatal to me. Ten 
years ago, I lost here twelve thousand livres/' Perrin 
listened with attention "What search made you for 
them ?" said he. " It was not in my power," replied the 
stranger, " to make any search. I was hurrying to Port 
POrient, to embark for the Indies, as the vessel was 
ready to sail. 

Next morning, Perrin showed his guests his house, 
his garden, his cattle, and mentioned the produce of his 
fields. "All these are your property," said he, address- 
ing the gentleman who had lost the bag: " the money 
fell into my hands; I purchased this farm with it; the 
farm is yours. The vicar has an instrument which se- 
cures your property, though I had died without seeing 
you." 

The stranger read the instrument with emotion ; he 

n 9 \ 



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looked on Perrin, Lucetta, and the children. " Where 
am I," cried he, " and what do I hear ! — What virtue in 
people of so low a condition ! Have you any other land 
but this farm V 9 "No," replied Perrin, " but you will 
have occasion for a tenant, and I hope you will allow me 
to remain here." " Your honesty deserves a better re- 
compense," answered the stranger. *»My success in 
trade has been great, and I have forgotten my loss. 
You are well entitled to this little fortune : keep it as 
your own. What man in the worid could have acted 
more nobly than you have done ?" 

Perrin and Lucetta shed tears of affection and joy. 
ii My dear children," said Perrin, 6i kiss the hand of your 
benefactor. — Lucetta, this farm now belongs to us, and 
we can enjoy it without any anxiety or remorse/' Thus 
was honesty rewarded. Let those who debire the re- 
ward, practice the virtue. 

THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF MATTER. 
DR. ARNOTT. 

The smallest portion of any substance, which the hu- 
man eye can perceive, is still a mass of many ultimate 
atoms or particles, which may be separated from each 
other, or newly arranged, but which cannot, individually, 
be hurt or destroyed. 

A particle of powdered marble, hardly visible to the 
naked eye, still appears to the microscope a block sus- 
ceptible of indefinite division ; and, when broken by fit 
instruments, until the microscope can hardly discover 



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187 



the separate particles of the fine powder, these may be 
yet farther divided, by dissolving them in an acid, until 
the whole becomes absolutely invisible, as part of a 
transparent liqid. 

A small mass of gold may be hammered into thin leaf, 
or drawn into fine wire, or cut into almost invisible 
parts, or liquefied in a crucible, or dissolved in acid, or 
dissipated by intense beat into vapour ; yet, after any and 
all of these changes, the atoms can be collected again, 
and the original gold can be exhibited in its pristine 
state, without the slightest diminution or change. And 
all the substances, or elements, of winch our globe is 
composed, may thus be cut, torn, bruised, ground, &c. 
a thousand times, but ate always recoverable as per- 
fect as at first. 

And, with respect to delicate combinations of these 
elements, such as we see in animal and vegetable sub- 
stances, although it be beyond human art originally to 
f irm, or to imitate many of them, still, in their decom- 
position and apparent destruction, the accomplished che- 
mist of the present day does not lose a single atom. The 
coal which burns in his apparatus until only a little ash re- 
mains behind, or the wax taper which seems to vanish alto- 
gether in flame, or the portion of animal flesh which putre- 
fies, and gradually dries up and disappears; all these 
phenomena are now proved to be only changes of connex- 
ion, and arrangement among the indestructible ultimate 
atoms ; and the chemist can offer all the elements again, 
mixed or separate, as desired, for any of the useful pur- 
poses to which they are severally applicable. When the 



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funeral piles of the ancients, with their charge of human 
relict, appeared to be wholly consumed, and left the idea 
with survivors, that no base use could be made, in 
after time, of what had been the material dwelling of a 
noble or beloved spirit ; the flames had only, as it were, 
scattered the everlasting blocks of which a former edifice 
had been constructed, but which were soon to serve again 
in new combinations. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF LANGUAGE. 
DR. ARtfOTT. 

No intelligent mind can meditate on human speech, 
and its influence in the world, without being roused to 
vivid admiration. But for speech, the most gifted indi- 
viduals that have lived, had they existed at all, could 
have been little superior, in their worldly state, to the 
leading oxen of our herds, or to leading monkies in the 
woods. Even at the present day, among the natives of 
Australasia, where language may be said scarcely yet to 
be known, human nature is seen thus shockingly debased. 
On the other hand, in the history of the world, we may 
trace, as a consequence of speech, the following progress 
in art and civilization. Fathers, by language, have 
communicated their gathered observations and reflections 
to their children ; these, again, have transmitted the in- 
heritance, with gradual accumulation, to new descend- 
ants ; and so on, to the present day : and when the pre- 
cious store had increased, until the simple powers of 
memory could retain no more, the art of writing arose, 



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189 



making language visible and permanent, and enlarging 
without limit the receptacles of wisdom. Printing came 
last, and now rolls the still swelling flood of knowledge 
into every hamlet and every hut. 

Thus, language, at the present moment of the world's 
existence, may be said to bind the whole human race, of 
uncounted millions, into one gigantic rational being, 
whose memory reaches to the beginnings of written re- 
cord, and retains imperishably, the important events that 
have occurred ; whose judgment, analyzing the trea- 
sures of memory, has already discovered many of the 
sublime and unchanging laws of nature, and has built on 
them the arts of life, and through them pierces far into 
futurity, seeing, distinctly, events that are to come; and 
whose eyes, and ears, and observant mind, are at this 
moment, in every corner of the earth, watching and re- 
cording new phenomena, for the purpose of still better 
comprehending the magnificence, and simplicity, and 
beauty of creation. 

ON THE IMMORALITY OF THE SOUL, 
ADDISON. 

I was yesterday walking alone, in one of my friend's 
woods, and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was 
running over, in my mind, the several arguments that 
establish this great point ; w hich is the basis of morality, 
and the source of all the pleasing hopes, and secret joys 
that can arise in the heart of a reasonable creature. I 
considered those several proofs drawn, 

First, from the nature of the soul itself, and particu- 



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larly its immateriality ; which, though not absolutely 
necessary to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, 
been evinced to almost a demonstration. 

Secondly, from its passions and sentiments ; as, par- 
ticularly, from its love of existence ; its horror of anni- 
hilation ; and its hopes of immortality ; with that secret 
satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue, 
and that uneasiness which follows upon the commis- 
sion of vice. 

Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, whose 
justice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity, are all concern- 
ed in this point. 

But among these, and other excellent arguments for 
the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from 
the perpetual progress of the soul to its perfection, with- 
out a possibility of ever arriving at it ; which is a hint 
that I do not remember to have seen opened and improved 
by others who have written on this subject, though it 
seems to me to carry a very great weight with it. How 
can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the soul, which 
is capable of immense perfections, and of receiving new 
improvements to all eternity, shall fall away into nothing, 
almost as soon as it is created ? Are such abilities made 
for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point of perfection, 
that he can never pass : in a few years he has all the en- 
dowments he is capable of; and were he to live ten 
thousand more, would be the same thing he is at present. 
Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplish- 
ments ; were her faculties to be full blown, and incapa- 
ble of farther enlargements ; I could imagine she might 



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191 



fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of 
annihilation. But can we believe a thinking being that 
is in a perpetual progress of improvement, and travelling 
on from perfection to perfection, after having just looked 
abroad into the works of her Creator, and made a few 
discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom and power, 
must perish at her first setting out, and in the very be- 
ginning of her inquiries ? 

Man, considered only in his present state, seems sent 
into the world merely to propagate his kind. He pro- 
vides himself with a successor ; and immediately quits 
his post to make room for him. He does not seem born 
to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is 
not surprising to consider in animals, which are formed 
for our use, and which can finish their business in a short 
life. The silk worm, after having spun her task, lays 
her eggs and dies. But a man cannot take in his full 
measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his pas- 
sions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the 
perfection of his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. 
Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious crea- 
aires for so mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the pro* 
duction of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived 
reasonable beings ? Would he give us talents that are 
not to be exerted ? capacities that are never to be grati- 
fied ? How can we find that wisdom which shines through 
all his works, in the formation of man, without looking 
on this world as only a nursery for the next ; and with- 
out believing that the several generations of rational 
creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick 



192 



THE BHYTHMICAt HEADER, 



successions, are only to receive their first rudiments of 
existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted into a 
more friendly climate, where they may spread and flou- 
rish to all eternity. 

There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and tri- 
umphant consideration in religion, than this of the per- 
petual progress, which the soul makes towards the per- 
fection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in 
it. To look upon the soul as going on from strength to 
strength ; to consider that she is to shine for ever with 
new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; 
that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and know- 
ledge to knowledge ; carries in it something wonderfully 
agreeable to that ambition, which is natural to the mind 
of man. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God 
himself, to see his creation for ever beautifying in his 
eyes ; and drawing nearer to him, by greater degrees of 
resemblance. 

Methinks this single consideration, of the progress of 
a finite spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish 
all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. 
That cherub, which now appears as a god to a human 
soul, knows very well that the period will come about in 
eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he 
himself now is : nay, when she shall look down upon that 
degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. 
It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that 
means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale 
of being ; but he knows that, how high soever the station 
is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



193 



nature will, at length, mount up to it ; and shine forth 
in the same degree of glory. 

With what astonishment and veneration, may we look 
into our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of 
virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of per- 
fection ! We know not yet what we shall be ; nor will it 
ever enter into the heart of man, to conceive the glory 
that will be always in reserve for him. The soul, consi- 
dered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical 
lines, that may draw nearer to another for all eternity, 
without a possibility of touching it : and can there be a 
thought so transporting, as to consider ourselves in these 
perpetual approaches to him, who is the standard, not 
only of perfection, but of happiness ? 

CREATION AND PROVIDENCE. 
WATTS. 

I sing the almighty power of God, 

That made the mountains rise ; 
That spread the flowing seas abroad, 

And built the lofty skies. 

I sing the wisdom that ordained 

The s:m to rule the day : 
The moon shines full at his command, 

And all the stars obey. 

I sing the goodness of the Lord, 

That filled the earth with food : 

He formed the creatures with his word, 

And then pronounced them good. 
R 



194 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER* 



Lord ! how thy wonders are displayed, 

Where'er I turn mine eye ; 
If I survey the ground I tread, 

Or gaze upon the sky ! 

There's not a plant or flow r er below 

But makes thy glories known ; 
And clouds arise, and tempests blow, 

By order from thy throne. 

Creatures (as numerous as they be) 

Are subject to thy care ; 
There's not a place where we can flee, 

But God is present there. 

In heaven he shines with beams of love ; 

With wrath in hell beneath ; 
'Tis on his earth I stand or move, 

And 'tis his air I breathe. 

His hand is my perpetual guard ; 

He keeps me with his eye ; 
Why should I then forget the Lord, 

Who is for ever nigh. 

NO LIFE PLEASING TO GOD, THAT IS NOT USEFUL TO 
MAN. AN EASTERN NARRATIVE. 

HAWKES WORTH. 

It pleased our mighty sovereign, Abbas Carascan, 
from whom the kings of the earth derive honour and do- 
minion, to set Mirza, his servant, over the province of 
Tauris. In the hand of Mirza, the balance of distribu- 
tion was suspended with impartiality j and under his 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



195 



administration the weak were protected* the learned re- 
ceived honour, and the diligent became rich : Mirza, 
therefore, was beheld by every eye with complacency, 
and every tongue pronounced blessings upon his head. 
But it was observed that he derived no joy from the bene- 
fits which he diffused ; he became pensive and melan- 
choly ; he spent his leisure in solitude ; in his palace he 
sat motionless upon a sofa ; and when he went out, his 
w alk was slow, and his eyes were fixed upon the ground : 
he applied to the business of state with reluctance ; and 
resolved to relinquish the toil of government, of which 
he could no longer enjoy the reward. 

He, therefore, obtained permission to approach the 
throne of our sovereign ; and being asked what was his 
request, he made this reply : " May the Lord of the 
w T orld forgive the slave whom he has honoured, if Mirza 
presume again to lay the bounty of Abbas at his feet. 
Thou hast given me the dominion of a country, fruitful 
as the gardens of Damascus ; and a city glorious above 
all others, except that only which reflects the splendour 
of thy presence. But the longest life is a period scarcely 
sufficient to prepare for death. All other business is 
vain and trivial, as the toil of emmets in the path of the 
traveller, under whose foot they perish for ever : and all 
enjoyment is unsubstantial and evanescent as the colours 
of the bow that appears in the interval of a storm. Suf- 
fer me, therefore, to prepare for the approach of eternity : 
let me give up my soul to meditation ; let solitude and 
silence acquaint me with the mysteries of devotion ; let 
me forget the world, and by the world be forgotten, till 



196 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



the moment arrives in which the veil of eternity shall 
fall, and I shall be found at the bar of the Almighty. 99 
Mirza then bowed himself to the earth, and stood silent. 

By the command of Abbas it is recorded, that at these 
words he trembled upon the throne, at the footstool of 
which the world pays homage ; he looked round upon 
his nobles ; but every countenance was pale, and every 
eye was upon the earth. No man opened his mouth ; and 
the king first broke silence, after it had continued near 
an hour. 

" Mirza, terror and doubt are come upon me. 1 am 
alarmed as a man who suddenly perceives that he is 
near the brink of a precipice, and is urged forward by 
an irresistible force : but yet I know not whether my 
danger is a reality, or a dream. I am, as thou art, a 
reptile of the earth : my life is a moment, and eternity, 
in which days, and years, and ages, are nothing, eternity 
is before me, for which I also should prepare : but by 
whom then must the faithful be governed ? By those 
only who have no fear of judgment ; by those only whose 
life is brutal, because, like brutes, they do not consider 
that they shall die ? Or who, indeed, are the faithful ? 
Are the busy multitudes that crowd the city, in a state 
of perdition ? and is the cell of the Dervise, alone, the 
the gate of paradise ? To all, the life of a Dervise is not 
possible : to all, therefore, it cannot be a duty. Depart 
to the house which has in this city been prepared for thy 
residence : I will meditate the reason of thy request ; and 
may He who illuminates the mind of the humble, enable 
me to determine with wisdom. 55 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



197 



Mirza departed ; and on the third day, having received 
no command, he again requested an audience, and it was 
granted. When he entered the royal presence, his coun- 
tenance appeared more cheerful ; he drew a letter from 
his bosom, and having kissed it, he presented it with his 
right hand. " My Lord \" said he, " I have learned by 
this letter, which I received from Cosrou the Iman, who 
stands now before thee, in what manner life may be best 
improved. I am enabled to look back with pleasure, and 
forward with hope ; and I shall now rejoice still to be the 
shadow of thy power at Tauris, and to keep those 
honours which I so lately wished to resign." The king* 
who had listened to Mirza with a mixture of surprise 
and curiosity, immediately gave the letter to Cosrou, and 
commanded that it should be read. The eyes of the 
court were at once turned upon tfce hoary sage, whose 
countenance was suffused with an honest blush ; and it 
was not without some hesitation that he read these words : 

m To Mirza, whom the wisdom of Aboas, our mighty 
lord, has honoured with dominion, be perpetual health ! 
When I heard thy purpose to withdraw the blessings of 
thy government from the thousands of Tauris, my heart 
was wounded with the arrow of affliction, and my eyes 
became dim with sorrow. But who shall speak before 
the king when he is troubled ; and who shall boast of 
knowledge, when he is distressed by doubt ? To thee 
will I relate the events of my youth, which thou hast re- 
newed before me ; and those truths which they taught 
me, may the Prophet multiply to thee ! 

" Under the instruction of the physician Aluzar, I ob- 

R2 



198 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER, 



tained an early knowledge of his art. To those who 
were smitten with disease, I could administer plants, 
which the sun has impregnated with the spirit of health. 
But the scenes of pain, languor, and mortality, which 
were perpetually rising before me, made me often 
tremble for myself. I saw the grave open at my feet : 
I determined, therefore, to contemplate only the regions 
beyond it, and to despise every acquisition which I could 
not keep. I conceived an opinion, that as there w as no 
merit but in voluntary poverty, and silent meditation, 
those who desired money were not proper objects of 
bounty ; and that by all who were proper objects of 
bounty, money was despised. I, therefore, buried mine 
in the earth ; and renouncing society, I wandered into a 
wild and sequestered part of the country. My dwelling 
was a cave, by the side of a hill. I drank the running 
water from the spring, and eat such fruits and herbs as 
I could find. To increase the austerity of my life, I fre- 
quently watched all night, sitting at the entrance of the 
cave with my face to the east, resigning myself to the 
secret influences of the Prophet, One morning after my 
nocturnal vigil, just as I perceived the horizon glow at 
the approach of the sun, the power of sleep became irre- 
sistible, and I sunk under it. I imagined myself still 
sitting at the entrance of my cell ; that the dawn increas- 
ed ; and that as I looked earnestly for the first beam of 
day, a dark spot appeared to intercept it. I perceived 
that it was in motion ; it increased in size as it drew 
near, and at length I discovered it to be an eagle. I still 
kept my eye fixed steadfastly upon it, and saw it alight 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



199 



at a small distance, where I now descried a fox, whose 
two fore-legs appeared to be broken. Before this fox the 
eagle laid part of a kid, which she had brought in her 
talons, and then disappeared. When I awaked, I laid 
my forehead upon the ground, and blessed the Prophet 
for the instruction of the morning. I reviewed my dream, 
and said thus to myself : Cosrou, thou hast done well to 
renounce the tumult, the business, and vanities of life : 
but thou hast as yet only done it in part ; thou art still 
every day busied in the search of food; thy mind is not 
wholly at rest; neither is thy trust in Providence com- 
plete. What art thou taught in this vision ? If thou 
hast seen an eagle commissioned by Heaven to feed a fox 
that is lame, shall not the hand of Heaven also supply 
thee with food, when that which prevents thee from pro- 
curing it for thyself, is not necessity, but devotion ? I was 
now so confident af a miraculous supply, that I neglected 
to walk out for my repast, which, after the first day, I 
expected with an impatience that left me little power of 
attending to any other object. This impatience, how- 
ever, I laboured to suppress, and persisted in ray resolu- 
tion : but my eyes at length began to fail me, and my 
knees smote each other; I threw myself backward, and 
hoped lirj weakness would soon increase to insensibility. 
But I was fciddenly roused by the voice of an invisible 
being, who pro, ounce d these w~ords : ' Cosrou, I am the 
angel, who, by tht command of the Almighty, have re- 
gistered the thoughts of thy heart, which I am now com- 
missioned to reprove While thou wast attempting to 
become wise above ths* which is revealed, thy folly has 



200 



THE "RHYTHMICAL READER. 



perverted the instruction which was vouchsafed thee. 
Art thou disabled as the fox ? hast thou not rather the 
powers of the eagle ? Arise, let the eagle be the object 
of thy emulation. To pain and sickness be thou again 
the messenger of ease and health. Virtue is not rest, but 
action. If thou dost good to man, as an evidence of thy 
love to God, thy virtue will be exalted from moral to di- 
vine ; and that happiness which is the pledge of paradise, 
will be thy reward upon earth. 5 

u At these words, I was not less astonished than if a 
mountain had been overturned at my feet. I humbled 
myself in the dust ; I returned to the city ; I dug up my 
treasure; I was liberal yet I became rich. My skill in 
restoring health to the body, gave me frequent opportuni- 
ties of curing the diseases of the soul. I grew eminent be- 
yond my merit ; and it was the pleasure of the king that 
I should stand before him. Now T , therefore, be not of- 
fended ; I boast of no knowledge that I have not received. 
As the sands of the desert drink up the drops of rain, or 
the dew of the morning, so do I also, who am but dust 
imbibe the instructions of the Prophet. Believe then 
that it is he who tells thee, all knowledge is profane, 
which terminates in thyself; and by a life wa^ed in 
speculation, little even of this can be gained. When the 
gates of paradise are thrown open before t we > ^7 mind 
shall be irradiated in a moment. Here t*° u canst do little 
more than pile error upon error : tfare, thou shalt build 
truth upon truth. Wait, therefore, for the glorious vision ; 
and in the mean time emulate the *agle. Much is in thy 
power ; and, therefore, much is expected of thee. Though 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



201 



the Almighty only can give virtue, yet as a prince, thou 
mayst stimulate those to beneficence, who act from no high- 
er motive than immediate interest : thou canst not pro- 
duce the principle, but mayst enforce the practice. Let 
thy virtue be thus diffused ; and if thou believest with 
reverence, thou shalt be accepted above. Farewell ! 
May the smile of Him who resides in the heaven of hea- 
vens be upon thee ; and against thy name, in the volume 
of His will, may happiness be written \" 

The king, whose doubts, like those of Mirza, were now 
removed, looked up with a smile that communicated the 
joy of his mind. He dismissed the prince to his govern- 
ment ; and commanded these events to be recorded, to 
the end that posterity may know, " that no life is pleas- 
ing to God, but that which is useful to mankind." 

GENIUS. 
AKEN&IDE. 

Fhom heaven my strains begin ; from heaven descends 

The flame of genius to the human breast, 

And love, and beauty, and poetic joy, 

And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun 

Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night 

The moon suspended her serener lamp ; 

Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the globe* 

Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore ; 

Then lived the Almighty One ; then, deep retired, 

In his unfathom'd essence, viewed the forms, 

The forms eternal of created things ; 



202 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp, 

The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe ? 

And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first 

Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd, 

His admiration : till, in time complete, 

What he admired and loved, his vital smile 

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 

Of life informing each organic frame, 

Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves ; 

Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold* I 

And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers, 

And all the fair variety of things. 

But not alike to every mortal eye 
Is this great scene unveil'd. For since the claims 
Of social life, to different labours urge 
The active powers of man ; with wise intent 
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds 
Imprints a different bias, and to each 
Decrees its province in the common toil, 
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, 
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, 
The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave 
To weigh the moment of eternal things, 
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, 
And will's quick impulse ; others by the hand 
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
What healing virtue swells the tender veins 
Of herbs and flowers ; or what the beams of morn 
Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind 
In balmy tears. But some to higher hopes 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



203 



Were destin'd : some within a finer mould 
She wrought, and tempered with a purer flame. 
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds 
The world's harmonious volume, there to read 
The transcript of himself. On every part 
They trace the bright impressions of his hand ; 
In earth or air, the meadows purple stores, 
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form, 
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see pourtray'd 
That uncreated beauty, which delights 
The Mind Supreme. They also feel her charms, 
Enamour' d ; they partake the eternal joy. 

PATIENCE UNDER PROVOCATIONS OUR INTEREST AS 
WELL AS DUTY. 

BLAIR. 

The wide circle of human society is diversified by an 
endless variety of characters, dispositions and passions. 
Uniformity is, in no respect, the genius of the world. 
Every man is marked by some peculiarity which distin- 
guishes him from another : and no where can two indi- 
viduals be found, who are exactly, and in all respects, 
alike. Where so much diversity obtains, it cannot but 
happen, that in the intercourse which men are obliged 
to maintain, their tempers will often be ill adjusted to 
that intercourse ; will jar, and interfere with each other. 
Hence, in every station, the highest as well as the low- 
est, and in every condition of life, public, private, and 
domestic, occasions of irritation frequently arise. We 
are provoked, sometimes, by the folly and levity of those 



204 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



with whom we are connected : sometimes by their indif- 
ference or neglect , by the incivility of a friend, the 
haughtiness of a superior, or the insolent behaviour of 
one in lower station. Hardly a day passes, without 
somewhat or other occurring, which serves to ruffle the 
man of impatient spirit. Of course, such a man lives in 
a continual storm. He knows not what it is to enjoy a 
train of good humour. Servants, neighbours, friends, 
spouse, and children, all, through the unrestrained vio- 
lence of his temper, become sources of disturbance and 
vexation to him. In vain is affluence ; in vain are health 
and prosperity. The least trifle is sufficient to discom- 
pose his mind, and poison his pleasures. His very 
amusements are mixed with turbulence and passion. 

I would beseech this man to consider, of what small 
moment the provocations which he receives, or at least, 
imagines himself to receive, are really in themselves ; 
but of what great moment he makes them, by suffering 
them to deprive him of the possession of himself. I 
would beseech him to consider, how many hours of hap- 
piness he throws away, which a little more patience 
would allow him to enjoy ; and how much he puts it in 
the power of the most insignificant persons to render him 
miserable. "But who can expect, 99 we hear him ex- 
claim, " that he is to possess the insensibility of a stone ? 
How is it possible for human nature to endure so many 
repeated provocations ? or to bear calmly with so unrea- 
sonable behaviour ?" — My brother ! If thou canst bear 
with no instances of unreasonable behaviour, withdraw 
thyself from the world. Thou art no longer fit to live 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 205 

in it. Leave the intercourse of men. Retreat to the 
mountain, and the desert ; or shut thyself up in a cell. 
For here, in the midst of society, offences must come. 
We might as well expect, when we behold a calm atmos- 
phere, and a clear sky, that no clouds were ever to rise, 
and no winds to blow, as that our life were long to pro- 
ceed, without receiving provocations from human frailty. 
The careless and the imprudent, the giddy and the fickle, 
the ungrateful and the interested, every where meet us. 
They are the briars and thorns, with which the paths of 
human life are beset. He only, who can hold his course 
among them with patience and equanimity, he who is 
prepared to bear what he must expect to happen, is wor- 
thy the name of a man. 

If we preserved ourselves composed but for a moment, 
we should perceive the insignificancy of most of those 
provocations which we magnify so highly. When a few 
suns more have rolled over our heads, the storm will, 
of itself, have subsided ; the cause of our present impa- 
tience and disturbance will be utterly forgotten. Can we 
not then, anticipate this hour of calmness to ourselves ; 
and begin to enjoy the peace which it will certainly 
bring ? If others have behaved improperly, let us leave 
them to their own folly, without becoming the victim of 
their caprice, and punishing ourselves on their account. 
Patience, in this exercise of it, cannot be too much stu- 
died by all who wish their life to flow in a smooth stream. 
It is the reason of a man, in opposition to the passion of 
a child. It is the enjoyment of peace, in opposition to 
uproar and confusion. 



206 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



GREATNESS. 
AKENSIDE. 

Say, why was man so eminently raised 
Amid the the vast creation ? w hy ordain'd 
Thro' life and death to dart his piercing eye* 
With thought beyond the limit of his frame ; 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, 
In sight of mortal and immortal powers, 
As on a boundless theatre, to run 
The great career of justice : to exalt 
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 
To chase each partial purpose from his breast ; 
And thro' the mists of passion aud of sense, 
And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain, 
To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice 
Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent 
Of Nature, calls him to his high reward, 
The applauding smile of Heaven ? Else wherefore burns 
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 
That breathes from day to day sublimer things, 
And mocks possession ? Wherefore darts the mind, 
With such resistless ardour to embrace 
Majestic forms, impatient to be free ; 
Spurning the gross control of wilful might ; 
Proud of the strong contention of her toils ; 
Proud to be daring ? Who but rather turns 
To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view, 
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 20? 

Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye 

Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey 

Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave 

Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with shade, 

And continents of sand, will turn his gaze 

To mark the windings of a scanty rill 

That murmurs at his feet ? The high-born soul 

Disdains to rest her heaven aspiring wing 

Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth 

And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 

Thro' fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 

Rides on the volley'd lightning thro' the heavens ; 

Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast, 

Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars 

The blue profound, and hovering round the sun, 

Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 

Of light ; beholds his unrelenting sway 

Bend the reluctant planets to absolve 

The fated rounds of time. Thence far effused 

She darts her swiftness up the long career 

Of devious comets : thro 9 its burning signs 

Exulting measures the perennial wheel 

Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars, 

Whose blended light, as with a milky zone, 

Invests the orient. Now amazed she views 

The empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold, 

Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode ; 

And fields of radiance, whose unfading light 

Has travelled the profound six thousand years, 

Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. 



208 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Even on the barriers of the world untired 

She meditates the eternal depth below, 

Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep 

She plunges ; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallowed up 

In that immense of being. There her hopes 

Rest at the fatal goal ; for, from the birth 

Of moital man, the sovereign Maker said, 

That not in humble nor in brief delight, 

Not in the fading echoes of renown, 

Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap? 

The soul should find enjoyment ; but, from these 

Turning disdainful to an equal good, 

Thro' all the ascent of things enlarge her view> 

Till every bound at length should disappear, 

And infinite perfection close the scene. 

GIFTS ARE NOTHING WITHOUT CHAEiTY* 
ST. PAUX. 

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels? 
and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass? 
or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of 
prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all know- 
ledge ; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove 
mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And 
though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and 
though I give my body to be burned, and have not cha- 
rity, it profiteth me nothing. 

Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth 
not ; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 909 

not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not 
easily provoked, thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in ini- 
quity, but rejoiceth in the truth ; beareth all things, be- 
lie veth all things, hopeth aH things, endureth all things. 
Charity never faileth ; but whether there be prophecies, 
they shall fail ; whether there be tongues, they shall 
cease ; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 
For we know in part, and we prophecy in part. But 
when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in 
part shall be done away. 

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood 
as a child, I thought as a child ; but when I became a 
man, I put away childish things. For now we see through 
a glass, darkly ; but then face to face ; now I know in 
part ; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three j but 
the greatest of these is charity. 

TO THE SEA. 
KEATE. 

Hail ! thou inexhaustible source of wonder and con- 
templation !— Hail ! thou multitudinous ocean ! whose 
waves chase one another down like the generations of 
men, and after a momentary space, are immerged for 
ever in oblivion : — Thy fluctuating waters wash the va- 
ried shores of the world, and while they disjoin nations, 
whom a nearer connection would involve in eternal war, 
they circulate their arts, and their labours, and give 

health and plenty to mankind. 

S2 



210 



THE RHYTHMICAL READEit. 



How glorious ! how awful are the scenes thou display* 
est ! — Whether we view thee when every wind is hushed, 
^-when the morning sun silvers the level line of the ho- 
rizon, — or when its evening track is marked w ith flaming 
gold, and thy unrippled bosom reflects the radiance of 
the overarching Heavens ! — Or whether we behold thee 
in thy terrors ! — when the black tempest sweeps thy 
swelling billows, and the boiling surge mixes with the 
clouds, — when death rides the storm, — and humanity 
drops a fruitless tear for the toiling mariner whose heart 
is sinking with dismay ! — 

And yet, mighty deep ! 'tis thy surface, alone we view. 
Who can penetrate the secrets of thy wide domain ?— 
What eye can visit thy immense rocks and caverns, that 
teem with life and vegetation ? — Or search out the my- 
riads of objects, whose beauties lie scattered over thy 
dread abyss ? 

The mind staggers at the immensity of her own con- 
ceptions, — and when she contemplates the flux and re- 
flux of thy tides, which from the beginning of the world 
were never known to err, how does she shrink at the idea 
of that Divine Pow T er, which originally laid the funda- 
tions so sure, and whose omnipotent voice hath fixed the 
limits where thy proud waves shall be stayed ! 

REMARKS OF MR. CLINTON IN THE SENATE OF THE UNI- 
TED STATES, ON THREATS OF DISUNION AMONG THE 
STATES. 

Mr. Speaker — The mover of the bill has menaced us 
with an insurrection of the Western States. Such threats 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 211 

are doubly improper—improper as they respect the per- 
sons to whom they are addressed, because we are not to 
be terrified from the performance of our duty by menaces 
of any kind, from whatever quarter they may proceed ; 
and it is no less improper to represent our western 
breteren as a lawless, unprincipled banditti, who would 
at once release themselves from the wholesome restraints 
of law and order ; forego the sweets of liberty ; and either 
renounce the blessings of self-government, or like the 
Goths and Vandals, pour down with the irresistible 
force of a torrent upon the countries below, and carry 
havoc and desolation in their train. 

A separation by a mountain, and a different outlet 
into the Atlantic, cannot create any natural collision 
between the Atlantic and western states : on the con- 
trary, they are bound together by a community of in- 
terests, and a similarity of language and manners ; by 
the ties of consanguinity and friendship, and a sameness 
of principles. There is no reflecting and well principled 
man in this country, who can view the severence of the 
states without horror ; and who does not consider it as a 
Pandora's box which will overwhelm us with every ca- 
lamity : and it has struck me with not a little astonish- 
ment, that on the agitation of almost every great politi- 
cal question, we should be menaced with this evil. 

Last session, when a bill repealing a judiciary act 
was under consideration, we were told that the eastern 
states would withdraw themselves from the union, if it 
should obtain ; and we are now informed, that if we do 
not accede to the proposition before us, the western states 



212 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



will hoist the standard of revolt and dismember the em- 
pire. Sir, these threats are calculated to produce the 
evil they predict, and they may possibly approximate the 
spirit they pretend to warn us against : they are at all 
times unnecessary, at all times improper, at all times mis- 
chievous, and ought never to be mentioned within these 
walls. If there be a portion of the United States pecu- 
liarly attached to republican government and the present 
administration, I should select the western states as that 
portion. 

To represent a people so republican, so enlightened, 
and so firm in their principles, as ready, without any 
adequate cause, (for no government could watch over 
their interests with more paternal solicitude than the 
present, upon the present question,) to violate their 
plighted faith and political integrity, to detach them- 
selves from the government they love, and to throw 
themselves under the protection of nations, whose politi- 
cal systems are entirely repugnant to their own, requires 
an extent of credulity rarely equalled, certainly never 
surpassed. 

THE THUNDER STORM. 
MONTGOMERY. 

Oh for evening's brownest shade ; 

Where the breezes play by stealth, 
In the forest cintured glade, 

Round the hermitage of Health : 
While the noon-bright mountains blaze, 
In the Sun's tormenting rays. 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Oe'r the sick and sultry plains, 
Through the dim delirious air, 

Agonizing silence reigns ; 
And the wanness of despair: 

Nature faints with fervent heat, 

Ah ! her pulse has ceased to beat! 

Now in deep and dreadful gloom, 
Clouds on clouds portentous spread ; 

Black as if the day of doom 

Hung oe'r Nature's shrinking head. 

Lo ! the lightning breaks from high ; 

God is coming ! God is nigh ! 

Hear ye not his chariot wheels, 
As the mighty thunder rolls ? 

Nature, startled Nature, reels 
From the centre to the poles. 

Tremble ! — Ocean, Earth, and Sky, 

Tremble ! — God is passing by ! 

Darkness, wild with horror, forms 
His mysterious hiding-place ; 

Should He from his ark of storms, 
Rend the veil, and show his face? 

At the judgment of his eye, 

All the universe would die. 

Brighter, broader lightnings flash, 
Hail and rain tempestuous fall; 

Louder, deeper thunders crash, 
Desolation threatens all: 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



Struggling Nature gasps for breath 
In the agony of death. 

God of Vengeance ! from above 
While thine awful bolts are hurl'd, 

Oh ! remember thou art Love! 
Spare ! oh spare a guilty world ! 

Stay thy flaming wrath awhile ; 

See thy bow of promise smile! 

Welcome, in the eastern cloud, 
Messenger of Mercy still ! 

Now, ye winds, proclaim aloud, 
" Peace on earth, to man, good will 

Nature, God's repenting child, 

See thy parent reconciled ! 

Hark ! the nightingale, afar, 
Sweetly sings the sun to rest, 

And awakes the evening star 
In the rosy tinted west ; 

While the moon's enchanting eye 

Opens Paradise on high ! 

Clear and tranquil is the night, 
Nature's sore afflictions cease ; 

For the storm, that spent its might, 
Has a covenant of peace: 

Vengeance drops her harmless rod; 

Mekcy is the POWER OF GOO ! 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



215 



ON TASTE. 
MEIMOTH. 

The charms of the fine arts are derived from the Au- 
thor of all nature, and founded in the original frame and 
constitution of the human mind. Accordingly the gene- 
ral principles of taste are common to our whole species, 
and arise from that internal sense of beauty which every 
man, in some degree at least, evidently possesses. No 
rational mind can be so wholly void of all perceptions of 
this sort, as to be capable of contemplating the various 
objects that surround him, with an equal coldness and 
indifference. There are certain forms which must ne- 
cessarily fill the soul with agreeable ideas ; and she is 
instantly determined in approbation of them, previous to 
all reasoning concerning their use and convenience. It 
is upon these general principles that what is called fine 
taste in the arts is founded ; and consequently is by no 
means so precarious and unsettled an idea as you choose 
to describe it. The truth is, taste is nothing more than 
this universal sense of beauty, rendered more exquisite 
by genius, and more correct by cultivation : and it is 
from the simple and original ideas of this sort, that the 
mind learns to form her judgement of the higher and more 
complex kinds. Accordingly, the whole imitative and 
oratorical art is governed by the same general rules of 
criticism ; and to prove the certainty of these with res- 
pect to one of them, is to establish their validity with re- 



216 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



gard to all rest. I will therefore consider the criterion 
of taste, in relation only to fine writing. 

Each species of composition has its distinct perfection ; 
and it would require a particular examination of the cha- 
racters of each, to prove their respective beauties to be 
derived from truth and nature, and consequently reduci- 
ble to a regular and precise standard. I will only men- 
tion, therefore, those general properties which are essen- 
tial to them all, and without which they must necessarily 
be defective in their several kinds. These, I think, may 
be comprehended under uniformity in their design, va» 
riety and resemblance in the metaphors and similitudes, 
together with propriety and harmony in the diction. 
Now some or all of these qualities constantly attend our 
ideas of beauty, and necessarily raise that agreeable per- 
ception of the mind in what object soever they appear. 
The charms of fine composition, then, are so far from 
existing only in the heated imagination of an enthusias- 
tic admirer, that they result from the constitution of na- 
ture herself. And perhaps the principles of criticism are 
as certain and indisputable, even as those of the mathe- 
matics. Thus, for instance, that order is preferable to 
confusion, that harmony is more pleasing than disso- 
nance, with some few other axioms upon which the sci- 
ence is built, are truths which strike at once upon the 
mind with the same force of conviction, as that the whole 
is greater than any of its parts, or, that if from equals 
you take away equals, the remainder will be equal. 
And in both cases, the propositions which rest upon these 



THE RHYTHMICAX READER. 



217 



plain and obvious maxims, seem equally capable of the 
same evidence of demonstration. 

But as every intellectual, as well as animal faculty, is 
improved and strengthened by exercise, the more the soul 
exerts this her internal sense of beauty upon any particu- 
lar object, the more she will enlarge and refine her relish 
of that peculiar species. For this reason the works of 
those great masters, whose performances have long and 
generally been admired, supply a farther criterion of 
fine taste, equally fixed and certain as that which is de- 
rived from Nature herself. The truth is, fine writing is 
only the art of raising agreeable sensations of the intel- 
lectual kind : and therefore, as by examining those ori- 
ginal forms which are adapted to aw T akenthis perception 
in the mind, wc learn what those qualities are which con- 
stitute beauty in general ; so by observing the peculiar 
construction of those compositions of genius which have 
always pleased, we perfect our idea of fine writing in 
particular. It is this united approbation, in persons of 
different ages, and of various characters and languages, 
that Longinus has made the test of the true sublime; 
and he might with equal justice have extended the same 
criterion to all the inferior excellencies of elegant com- 
position. Thus the deference paid to the performances 
of the great masters of antiquity, is fixed upon just and 
solid reasons ; it is not because Aristotle and Horace 
have given us the rules of criticism that we submit to 
their authority : it is because those rules are derived from 
works that have been distinguished by the uninterrupted 

admiration of all the more improved part of mankind, 

T 



218 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



from their earliest appearance down to this present hour. 
For whatever, through a long series of ages, has been 
universally esteemed beautiful, cannot but be conforma- 
ble to our just and natural ideas of beauty. 

THE VOICE OF THE SEASONS. 
ALISON. 

There is, in the revolution of time, a kind of warn- 
ing voice, which summons us to thought and reflection ; 
and every season, as it arises, speaks to us of the anala- 
gous character which we ought to maintain. From the 
first openings of the spring, to the last desolation of win- 
ter, the days of the year are emblematic of the state and 
of the duties of man ; and, whatever may be the period 
of our journey, we can scarcely look up into the heavens, 
and mark the path of the sun, w ithout feeling either some- 
thing to animate us upon our course, or to reprove us for 
our delay. 

When the spring appears, when the earth is covered 
with its tender green, and the song of happiness is heard 
in every shade, it is a call to us to religious hope and 
joy. Over the infant year the breath of heaven seems to 
blow w 7 ith paternal softness, and the heart of man wil- 
lingly partakes in the joyfulness of awakened nature. 

When summer reigns, and every element is filled with 
life, and the sun, like a giant, pursues his course through 
the firmament above, it is the season of adoration. We 
see there, as it were, the majesty of the present God ; 
and, wherever we direct our eye, the glory of the Lord 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



219 



seems to cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea. 

When autumn comes, and the annual miracle of nature 
is completed, it is the appropriate season of thankfulness 
and praise. The heart bends with instinctive gratitude 
before Him, whose benevolence neither slumbers nor 
sleeps, and who, from the throne of glory, yet remem- 
bereth the things that are in heaven and earth. 

The season of winter has also similar instructions. To 
the thoughtful and the feeling mind, it comes not without 
a blessing upon its wings ; and perhaps the noblest les- 
sons of religion are to be learned amid its clouds and 
storms. 

ON VIRTUE, 
POPE. 

Know then this truth, (enough for man to know) 
"Virtue alone is Happiness below, 55 
The only point where human bliss stands still, 
And tastes the good without the fall to ill ; 
Where only Merit constant pay receives, 
Is blest in what it takes, and what it gives ; 
The joy unequal'd if its end it gain, 
And if it lose, attended with no pain : 
Without satiety, though e'er so bless'd, 
And but more relish'd as the more distress'd : 
The broadest mirth unfeeling Folly wears, 
Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears : 
Good, from each object, from each place acquired, 
For ever exercised, yet never tired ; 



220 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Never elated, while one man's oppressed j 
Never dejected, while another's blessed ; 
And where no wants, no wishes can remain, 
Since but to wish more Virtue, is to gain. 

See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow ! 
Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know : 
Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, 
The bad must miss ; the good, untaught, will find ; 
Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, 
But looks through Nature, up to Nature's God ; 
Pursues that chain, which links the immense design? 
Joins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine; 
Sees that no Being any bliss can know, 
But touches some above, and some below ; 
Learns from this union of the rising Whole, 
The first, last purpose of the human soul ; 
And knows where Faith, Law, Morals, all began ? 
All end, in Love or God, and Love of Man. 

For him alone, hope leads from goal to goal, 
And opens still, and opens on his soul : 
Till lengthened on to Faith? and unconfined, 
It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. 
He sees, why Nature plants in man alone, 
Hope of known bliss* and Faith in bliss unknown ; 
(Nature, whose dictates to no other kind 
Are given in vain, but what they seek they find,) 
Wise is her present ; she connects in this 
His greatest Virtue with his greatest Bliss ; 
At once his own bright prospect to be blest, 
And strongest motive to assist the rest. 



<THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



Self-love thus pushed to social, to divine, 
Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine. 
Is this too little for thy boundless heart ? 
Extend it, let thy enemies have part : 
Grasp the whole world of Reason, Life, and Sense, 
In one close system of Benevolence ; 
Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, 
And height of Bliss but height of Charity. 

God loves from Whole to Parts : but human soul 
Must rise from Individual to the Whole, 
Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, 
As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
The centre moved, a circle strait succeeds, 
Another still, and still another spreads ; 
Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; 
His country next ; and next all human race ; 
Wide and more wide, the overflowings of the mind 
Take every creature in, of every kind ; 
Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, 
And Heaven beholds its image in his breast. 

SPEECH OF MR. WILBERFORCE ON THE SLAVE TRADE. 

Sir— 

Wguxd you be acquainted with the character of the 
Slave Trade — look to the continent of Africa, and there 
you will behold such a scene of horrors as no tongue can 
express, no imagination can represent to itself. One 
mode adopted by the petty chieftains of that country to 
supply our traders with slaves is, that of committing de- 



Q22 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



predations upon each other's territories : This circum- 
stance gives a peculiar character to the wars in Africa. 
They are predatory expeditions, of which the chief object 
is the acquisition of slaves. 

But this, sir, is the lightest of the evils Africa suffers 
from the Slave Trade. Still more intolerable are those 
acts of outrage which we are continually stimulating the 
kings to commit on their own subjects. Instead of the 
guardians and protectors, those kings have been made*, 
through our intsrumentality, the despoilers and ravagers 
of their people. 

A chieftain is in want of European commodities. He 
sends a party of soldiers by night to one of his own de- 
fenceless villages. They set fire to it ; they seize the 
miserable inhabitants as they are flying from the flames, 
and hurry with them to the ships of the Christian traders, 
who, hovering like vultures over these scenes of carnage* 
are ever ready for their prey. 

Nor is it only by the chieftains that these disorders 
are committed ; every one's hand is against his neigh- 
bour. Whithersoever a man goes, be it to the watering- 
place, or to the field, he is not safe. He never can quit 
his house without fear of being carried off by fraud or 
force ; and he dreads to come home again, lest on his 
return, he should find his hut a heap of ruins, and his 
family torn away into perpetual exile. Distrust and ter- 
ror every where prevail, and the whole country is one 
continued scene of anarchy and desolation. 

But this is not all. No means of procuring slaves, is 
left untouched. ESveu the administration of justice 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



223 



itself is made a fertile source of supply to this inhuman 
traffic. Every crime is punished by slavery ; and false 
accusations are continually brought, in order to obtain 
the price for which the criminal is sold. Sometimes the 
judges have a considerable part of this very price. Every 
man, therefore, is stimulated to bring an action against 
his neighbour. 

But these evils, terrible as they are, do not equal 
those which are endured on board ship, or in what is 
commonly called the middle passage. The mortality 
during this period is excessive. The slaves labour under 
a fixed dejection and melancholy, interrupted now and 
then by lamentations and plaintive songs, expressive of 
their concern for their relations, and friends, and native 
country. 

Many attempt to drown themselves ; others obstinately 
refuse to take sustenance ; and when the whip and other 
violent means have been used to compel them to eat, they 
have sometimes looked up in the face of the officer who 
executed his task, and consoled themselves by saying, in 
their own language, " presently we shall be no more." 

O, Sir ! are not these things too bad to be any longer 
endured ? I cannot but persuade myself that whatever 
difference of opinion there may have been, we shall be 
this night at length unanimous. I cannot believe that a 
British House of Commons will give its sanction to the 
continuance of this inhuman traffic. Never was there, 
indeed, a system so big with wickedness and cruelty. 
To whatever part of it you direct your view, the eye finds, 
no relief. 



224 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



It is the gracious ordinance of Providence, both in the 
natural and moral world, that good should often arise 
out of evil. Hurricanes clear the air, and persecution 
promotes the propagation of the truth. Pride, vanity, 
and profusion, in their remoter consequences contribute 
often to the happiness of mankind. Even those classes 
of men that may seem most noxious have some virtues. 
The Arab is hospitable. The robber is brave. We do 
not necessarily find cruelty associated with fraud, nor 
meanness with injustice. 

But here it is otherwise. It is the prerogative of this 
detested traffic, to separate from evil its concomitant 
good, and reconcile discordant mischiefs ; it robs war of 
its generosity ; it deprives peace of its security. You 
have the vices of polished society without its knowledge 
or its comforts ; and the evils of barbarism without its 
simplicity. 

No age, sex or rank is exempt from the influence of 
this wide-wasting calamity. It attains to the fullest 
measure of pure, unmixed wickedness ; and scorning all 
competition or comparison, it stands in the undisputed 
possession of its detestable pre-eminence. 

EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. CURRAN, IN BEHALF OF 
ARCHIBALD HAMILTON ROWAN, ESQ. FOR A LIBEL, IN 
THE COURT OF KING'S BENCH, IRELAND. 

This paper, gentlemen, insists upon the necessity of 
emancipating the Catholics of Ireland, and that is 
charged as part of the libel. If they had waited ano- 
ther year, if they had kept this prosecution impending 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



225 



for another year, how much would remain for a jury to 
decide upon, I should be at a loss to discover. It seems 
as if the progress of public reformation was eating away 
the ground of the prosecution. Since the commence- 
ment of the prosecution, this part of the libel has uur 
luckily received the sanction of the legislature. In that 
interval our catholic brethren have obtained that admis- 
sion, which it seems it was a libel to propose ; in what 
way to account for this, I am really at a loss. 

Have any alarms been occasioned by the emancipation 
of our catholic brethren ? Has the bigoted malignity of 
any individuals been crushed ? Or has the stability of 
the government, or that of the country, been weakened ? 
Or is one million of subjects stronger than four millions ? 
Do you think that the benefit they received should be 
poisoned by the sting of vengeance ? If you think so, 
you must say to them, "you have demanded emancipa- 
tion, and you have got it ; but we abhor your persons, 
w T e are outraged at your success ; and we will stigmatize 
by a criminal prosecution the relief which you have ob- 
tained from the voice of your country/ 5 

I ask you, gentlemen, do you think, as honest men, 
anxious for the public tranquility, conscious that there 
are wounds not yet completely cicatrized, that you 
ought to speak this language at this time, to men who 
are too much disposed to think that in this very emanci- 
pation they have been saved from their own Parliament 
by the humanity of their sovereign ? Or do you wish to 
prepare them for the revocation of these improvident 
concessions ? Do you think it wise or humane at this 



226 



THE RHYTHMICA1 READER. 



moment to insult them, by sticking up in the pillory, the 
man who dared to stand forth their advocate ? I put it 
to your oaths, do you think that a blessing of that kind, 
that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and op- 
pression, should have a stigma cast upon it by an igno- 
minious sentence upon men bold and honest enough to 
propose that measure ? 

To propose the redeeming of religion from the abuses 
of the church, the reclaiming of three millions of men 
from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had a right 
to demand it ; giving, I say, in the so much censured 
words of this paper, giving " Universal Emancipation 
I speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes li- 
berty commensurate with, and inseperable from, British 
soil ; which proclaims even to the stranger and the so- 
journer, the moment that he sets his foot upon British 
earth, that the ground upon which he treads is holy, 
and consecrated by the genius of 66 Universal Emancipa- 
tion." 

No matter in w r hat language his doom may have been 
pronounced ; — no matter what complexion incompatible 
with freedom, an Indian or an African sun may have 
burnt upon him — no matter in what disastrous battle his 
liberty may have been cloven down ; — no matter with 
what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar 
of slavery ; the first moment he touches the sacred soil of 
Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust; 
his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his body 
swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



227 



around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and 
disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of " universal 

EMANCIPATION. 5 * 

INDUSTRY NECESSARY TO THE ATTAINMENT OF 
ELOQUENCE. 

WARE. 

The history of the world is full of testimony to prove 
how much depends upon industry ; not an eminent orator 
has lived but is an example of it. Yet, in contradic- 
tion to all this, the almost universal feeling appears to be, 

! that industry can effect nothing, that eminence is the result 
of accident, and that every one must be content to remain 
just what he may happen to be. Thus multitudes, who 
come forward as teachers and guides, suffer themselves 
to be satisfied with the most indifferent attainments, and 
a miserable mediocrity, without so much as inquiring 
how they may rise higher, much less making any attempt 

( to rise. 

For any other art they would have served an appren- 
ticeship, and would be ashamed to practice it in public 
before they had learned it. If any one would sing, he 
attends a master, and is drilled in the very elementary 
i principles ; and only after the most laborious process, 
j lares to exercise his voice in public. This he does, 
i hough he has scarce any thing to learn but the mecha- 
lical execution of what lies in sensible forms before the 
ye. But the extempore speaker, who is to invent as 
veil as to utter, to carry on an operation of the mind 



228 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



as well as to produce sound, enters upon the work 
without preparatory discipline, and then wonders that 
he fails ! 

If he were learing to play on the flute for public 
exhibition, what hours and days would he spend in giv- 
ing facility to his fingers, and attaining the power of the 
sweetest and most expressive execution ! If he were de- 
voting himself to the organ, what months and years 
would he labour, that he might know its compass, and be 
master of its keys, and be able to draw out, at will, all 
its various combinations of harmonious sound, and its 
full richness and delicacy of expression ! And yet he 
will fancy that the grandest, the most various and most 
expressive of all instruments, which the infinite Creator 
has fashioned by the union of an intellectual soul with 
the powers of speech, may be played upon without study 
or practice; he comes to it a mere uninstructed tyro, and 
thinks to manage all its stops, and command the whole 
compass of its varied and comprehensive power ! He 
finds himself a bungler in the attempt, is mortified at his 
failure,, and settles it in his mind forever, that the attempt 
is vain. 

Success in every art, whatever may be the natural 
talent, is always the reward of industry and pains. But 
the instances are many, of men of the finest natural 
genius, whose beginning has promised much, but who 
have degenerated wretchedly as they advanced, because 
they trusted to their gifts, and made no efforts to im- 
prove. That there have never been other men of equal 
endowments with Demosthenes and Cicero, none would 



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229 



venture to suppose ; but who have so devoted themselves 
to their art, or become equal in excellence ? If those 
great men had been content, like others, to continue as 
they began, and had never made their persevering efforts 
for improvement, what would their countries have bene- 
fitted from their genius, or the world have known of their 
fame ? They would have been lost in the undistinguish- 
ed crowd that sunk to oblivion around them. 

Of how many more will the same remark prove true ! 
What encouragement is thus given to the industrious ! 
With such encouragement, how inexcusable is the negli- 
gence, which suffers the most interesting and important 
truths to seem heavy and dull, and fall ineffectual to the 
ground, through mere sluggishness in their delivery ! 
How unworthy of one who performs the high functions 
of a religious instructor, upon whom depend, in a great 
measure, the religious knowledge, and devotional senti- 
ments, and final character, of many fellow beings — to 
imagine, that he can worthily discharge this great con- 
cern, by occasionally talking for an hour, he knows not 
how, and in a manner which lie has taken no pains to 
render correct, impressive, and attractive ; and which, 
simply through want of that command over himself which 
study would give, is immethodical, verbose, innacurate, 
feeble, trifling. 

It has been said of the good preacher, that "truths 
divine come mended from his tongue." Alas ! they 
come ruined and worthless from such a man as this. 
They lose that holy energy, by which they are to con- 
vert the soul and purify man for heaven, and sink, in in- 



230 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



terest and efficacy, below the level of those principles, 
which govern the ordinary affairs of this lower world. 

EXECUTION OF THE EARL OF ARGYLE. 
FOX. 

On the 30th of June, 1685, the Earl of Argyle was 
brought from the castle, first to the Laigh Council 
House, and thence to the place of execution. Before he 
left the Castle, he had his dinner at the usual hour, at 
which he discoursed, not only calmly, but even cheerfully, 
with Mr. Chateris and others. After dinner he retired, 
as was his custom, to his bed chamber, where, it is re- 
corded, he slept quitetly for about a quarter of an hour. 
While he was in bed, one of the members of the council 
came, and intimated to the attendants, a desire to speak 
with him — upon being told that the earl was asleep, and 
had left orders not to be disturbed, the manager disbe- 
lieved the account, which he considered as a device to 
avoid further questionings. To satisfy him, the door of 
the bed chamber was half opened, and then he beheld, 
enjoying a sweet and tranquil slumber, the man who by 
the doom of him and his fellows, was to die within the 
short space of two hours ! 

Struck with the sight, he hurried out of the room, 
quitted the castle with the utmost precipitation, and hid 
himself in the lodgings of an acquaintance who lived 
near, where he threw himself upon the first bed that 
presented itself, and had every appearance of a man suf- 
fering the most excruciating torture. His friend, who 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 231 

was apprised of the state he was in, and who naturally 
concluded he was ill, offered him some wine. He refused, 
saying, " no, no, that will not help me ; I have been to 
Argyle, and saw him sleeping as pleasantly as ever man 
did, within one hour of Eternity, but as for me 

The name of the person to whom this anecdote relates 
is not mentioned, and the truth of it may therefore be 
fairly considered as liable to that degree of doubt with 
which men of judgment receive every species of tradi- 
tional history. Woodrow, however, whose veracity is 
above suspicion, says he had it from the most unquestion- 
able authority. It is not in itself unlikely, and who is 
there who would not wish it true ? What a satisfactory 
spectacle to a philosophical mind, to see the oppressor in 
the zenith of his power, envying his victim ! What an 
acknowledgment of the superiority of virtue ! What an 
affecting and forcible testimony of the value of that peace 
of mind, which Innocence alone can confer ! 

We know not who this man was, but when we reflect 
that the guilt which agonized him, was probably incurred 
for some vain title, or at least for some increase of 
wealth which he did not want, and possibly knew not 
how to enjoy, our disgust is turned into something like 
compassion, for that very foolish class of men, whom the 
world calls wise in their generation. 

Soon after this short repose, Argyle was brought, ac- 
cording to order, to the Laigh Council House, from which 
place is dated the letter to his wife, and from thence to 
the place of execution. On the scaffold he had some dis- 
course? as well with Mr. Annand, a minister appointed 



232 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



by government to attend him, as with Mr. Chateris. He 
desired both of them to pray for him, and prayed himself 
with much fervour and devotion. 

The speech which he made to the people, was such as 
might be expected from the passage already related. 
The same mixture of firmness and mildness is conspicu- 
ous in every part of it. " We ought not," said he, " to 
despise our afflictions, nor to faint under them. We 
should not suffer ourselves to be exasperated against the 
instruments of our troubles, nor by fraudulent or pusil- 
lanimous compliance, bring guilt upon ourselves — faint 
hearts are usually false hearts, choosing sin rather than 
suffering." 

He offers his prayers for the three Kingdoms of Eng- 
land, Scotland, and Ireland, and that an end may be put 
to their present trials. Having then asked pardon for 
his own faults, both of God and man, he would have con- 
cluded, but being reminded that he had said nothing of 
the Royal Family, he adds, that he refers, in this matter, 
to what he had said at his trial concerning the test : that 
he prayed there never might be wanting one of the Royal 
Family to support the Protestant Religion : and if any of 
them had swerved from the true faith, he prayed God to 
turn their hearts : but at any rate to save his people from 
their machinations. 

When he had ended, he turned to the south side of the 
scaffold and said, " Gentlemen, I pray you, do not mis- 
construct my behaviour this day — I freely forgive all 
men their wrongs and injuries done against me, as I de- 
sire to be forgiven of God." He then embraced his 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



233 



friends, gave some tokens of his remembrance to his son- 
in-law, Lord Maitland, for his daughter and granchil- 
dren, stript himself of part of his apparel, of which he 
likewise made presents, and laid his head upon the block. 
Having uttered a short prayer, he gave the signal to the 
executioner, which was instantly obeyed, and his head 
severed from his body. 

Such were the last hours, and such the final close of 
this great man's life. May the like happy serenity, in 
such dreadful circumstances, and a death equally glori- 
ous, be the lot of all, whom tyranny of whatever descrip- 
tion or denomination, shall, in any age, or in any coun- 
try, call to expiate their virtues on the scaffold ! 

FALLS OF NIAGARA. 
HOWISON. 

The form of Niagara Falls is that of an irregular 
semi-circle, about three quarters of a mile in extent. 
This is divided into two distinct cascades by the inter- 
vention of Goat Island, the extremity of which is per- 
pendicular, and in a line with the precipice, over which 
the water is projected. The cataract on the Canada 
side of the river is called the Horseshoe, or Great Fall, 
from its peculiar form ; and that next the United States, 
the American Fall. 

Three extensive views of the Falls may be obtained 
from three different places. In general, the first oppor- 
tunity travellers have of seeing the cataract is from the 

high road, which, at one point, lies near the bank of the 

U 2 



234 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



river. This place, however, being considerably above 
the level of the Falls, and a good way beyond them, af- 
fords a view that is comparatively imperfect and unim- 
posing. 

The Table Rock, from which the Falls of the Niagara 
may be contemplated in all their grandeur, lies on an 
exact level with the edge of the cataract on the Canada 
side, and indeed forms a part of the precipice, over which 
the water rushes. It derives its name from the circum- 
stance of its projecting beyond the cliffs that support it, 
like the leaf of a table. To gain this position, it is ne- 
cessary to descend a steep bank, and to follow a path 
that winds among shrubbery and trees, which entirely 
oonceal from the eye the scene that awaits him who tra- 
verses it. 

When near the termination of this road, a few steps 
carried me beyond all these obstructions, and a magnifi- 
cent amphitheatre of cataracts burst upon my view with 
appalling suddenness and majesty. However, in a mo- 
ment, the scene was concealed from my eyes by a dense 
cloud of spray, which involved me so completely, that I 
did not dare to extricate myself. 

A mingled and thundering rushing filled my ears. 
I could see nothing, except when the wind made a chasm 
in the spray, and then tremendous cataracts seemed to 
encompass me on every side ; while, below a raging and 
foaming gulf of undiscoverable extent, lashed the rocks 
with its hissing waves, and swallowed, under a horrible 
obscurity, the smoking floods that were precipitated into 
its bosom. 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



235 



At first the sky was obscured by clouds, but after a 
few minutes, the sun burst forth, and the breeze, subsid- 
ing at the same time, permitted the spray to ascend per- 
pendicularly. A host of pyramidal clouds rose majesti- 
cally, one after another, from the abyss at the bottom of 
the Fall j and each, when it had ascended a little above 
the edge of the cataract, displayed a beautiful rainbow, 
which, in a few moments, was gradually transferred into 
to the bosom of the cloud that immediately succeeded. 

The spray of the Great Fall had extended itself through 
a wide space directly over me, and receiving the full in- 
fluence of the sun, exhibited a luminous and magnificent 
rainbow, which continued to overarch and irradiate the 
spot on which I stood, while I enthusiastically contem- 
plated the indescribable scene. 

Any person, who has nerve enough, may plunge his 
hand into the water of the Great Fall, after it is pro- 
jected over the precipice, merely by lying down flat, 
with his face beyond the edge of the Table Rock, and 
stretching out his arm to its utmost extent. The expe- 
riment is truly a horrible one, and such as I would not 
wish to repeat ; for, even to this day, I feel a shudder- 
ing and recoiling sensation when I recollect having been 
in the posture above described. 

The body of water which composes the middle part of 
the Great Fall, is so immense, that it descends nearly 
two-thirds of the space without being ruffled or broken ; 
and the solemn calmness, with which it rolls over the edge 
of the precipice, is finely contrasted with the perturbed ap- 
pearance it assumes after having reached the gulf below. 



236 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



But the water, towards each side of the Fall, is shattered 
the moment it drops over the rock, and loses, as it de- 
scends, in a great measure, the character of a fluid, 
being divided into pyramidal-shaped fragments, the bases 
of which are turned upwards. 

The surface of the gulf, below the cataract, presents a 
very singular aspect ; seeming, as it were, filled with an 
immense quantity of hoar frost, which is agitated by 
small and rapid undulations. The particles of water 
are dazzlingly white, and do not apparently unite toge- 
ther, as might be supposed, but seem to continue for a 
time in a state of distinct comminution, and to repel each 
other with a thrilling and shivering motion, which can- 
not easily be described. 

The road to the bottom of the Fall presents many more 
difficulties than that which leads to the Table Rock. 
After leaving the Table Rock, the traveller must pro- 
ceed down the river nearly half a mile, where he will 
come to a small chasm in the bank, in which there is a 
spiral staircase enclosed in a wooden building. By de- 
scending the stair, which is seventy or eighty feet per- 
pendicular height, he will find himself under the preci- 
pice, on the top of which he formerly walked. A high, 
but sloping bank, extends from its base to the edge of the 
river ; and, on the summit of this, there is a narow, slip- 
pery path, covered with angular fragments of rock, which 
leads to the Great Fall. 

The impending cliffs, hung with a profusion of trees 
and brushwood, overarch this road, and seem to vibrate 
with the thunders of the cataract la some places they 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



237 



rise abruptly to the height of one hundred feet, and dis- 
play upon their surfaces, fossil shells, and the organic 
remains of a former world ; thus sublimely leading the 
mind to contemplate the convulsions which nature has 
undergone since the creation. 

As the traveller advances, he is frightfully stunned by 
the appalling noise j clouds of spray sometimes envelope 
him, and suddenly check his faltering steps ; rattlesnakes 
start from the cavities of the rocks ; and the scream of 
eagles, soaring among the whirlwinds of eddying vapour, 
which obscure the gulf of the cataract, at intervals an- 
nounces that the raging waters have hurled some bewil- 
dered animal over the precipice. After scrambling 
among piles of hugh rocks that obstruct his way, the 
traveller gains the bottom of the Fall, where the soul can 
be susceptible only of one emotion, — that of uncontrolla- 
ble terror. 

It was not until I had, by frequent excursions to the 
Falls, in some measure familiarized my mind with their 
sublimities, that I ventured to explore the recesses of the 
Great Cataract. The precipice over which it rolls is 
very much arched underneath, while the impetus which 
the water receives in its descent, projects it far beyond 
the cliff, and thus an immense Gothic arch is formed by 
the rock and the torrent. Twice 1 entered this cavern, 
and twice I was obliged to retrace my steps, lest I should 
be suffocated by the blast of dense spray that whirled 
around me; however, the third time, I succeded in ad- 
vancing about twenty-five yards. 

Here darkness began to encircle me. On one side, the 



238 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



black cliff stretched itself into a gigantic arch far above 
my head, and on the other, the dense and hissing torrent 
formed an impenetrable sheet of foam, with which I was 
drenched in a moment. The rocks were so slippery, that 
I could hardly keep my feet, or hold securely by them ; 
while the horrid din made me think the precipices above 
were tumbling down in colossal fragments upon my head. 

A little way below the great Fall, the river is, com- 
paratively speaking, so tranquil, that a ferry-boat plies 
between the Canada and American shores, for the con- 
venience of travellers. When I first crossed, the heaving 
flood tossed about the skiff with a violence that seemed 
very alarming ; but as soon as we gained the mid- 
dle of the river, my attention was altogether engaged 
by the surpassing grandeur of the scene before me. 

I was now within the area of a semi-circle of cataracts 
more than three thousand feet in extent, and floated on the 
surface of a gulf, raging, fathomless, and interminable. 
Majestic cliffs, splendid rainbows, lofty trees, and columns 
of spray, were the gorgeous decorations of this theatre 
of wonders ; while a dazzling sun shed refulgent glories 
upon every part of the scene. — Surrounded with clouds of 
vapour, and stunned into a state of confusion and terror 
by the hideous noise, I looked upwards to the height of 
one hundred and fifty feet, and saw vast floods, dense, 
awful, and stupendous, vehemently bursting over the pre- 
cipice, and rolling down as if the windows of heaven 
were opened to pour another deluge upon the earth. 

Loud sounds, resembling discharges of artillery or 
volcanic explosions, were now distinguishable amidst the 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



239 



watery tumult, and added terrors to the abyss from which 
they issued. The sun, looking majestically through the 
ascending spray, was encircled by a radiant halo ; while 
fragments of rainbows floated on every side, and mo- 
mentarily vanished, only to give place to a succession of 
others more brilliant. 

Looking backwards, I saw the Niagara River again 
become calm and tranquil, rolling magnificently between 
the towering cliffs, that rose on either side. A gentle 
breeze ruffled the waters, and beautiful birds fluttered 
around, as if to welcome its egress from those clouds, 
and thunders, and rainbows, which were the heralds of 
its precipitation into the abyss of the cataract. 

NIAGARA FALLS, 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 

Tremendous torrent ! for an instant hush 
The terrors of thy voice, and cast aside 
Those wide-involving shadows, that my eyes 
May see the fearful beauty of thy face ! 
I am not all unworthy of thy sight ; 
For, from my very boyhood, have I loved, — 
Shunning the meaner track of common minds, — 
To look on nature in her loftier moods. 
At the fierce rushing of the hurricane, 
At the near bursting of the thunderbolt, 
I have been touched with joy ; and, when the sea, 
Lashed by the wind, hath rocked my bark, and showed 
Its yawning caves beneath me, I have loved 



240 



THE RHYTHMIC Alt READER, 



Its dangers and the wrath of elements. 

But never yet the madness of the sea 

Hath moved me as thy grandeur moves me now. 

Thou flowest on in quiet, till thy waves 
Grow broken 'midst the rocks ; thy current then 
Shoots onward, like the irresistible course 
Of destiny. Ah ! terribly they rage — 
The hoarse and rapid whirlpools there ! My brain 
Grows wild, my senses wander, as I gaze 
Upon the hurrying waters, and my sight 
Vainly would follow, as toward the verge 
Sweeps the wide torrent— -waves innumerable 
Meet there and madden — waves innumerable 
Urge on and overtake the waves before, 
And disappear in thunder and in foam. 

They reach — they leap the barrier ; the abyss 
Swallows, insatiable, the sinking waves. 
A thousand rainbows arch them, and the woods 
Are deafened with the roar. The violent shock 
Shatters to vapour the descending sheets : 
A cloudy whirlwind fills the gulf, and heaves 
The mighty pyramid of circling mist 
To heaven, The solitary hunter, near, 
Pauses with terror in the forest shades. 

*Jv VV 

God of all truth ! in other lands I've seen 
Lying philosophers blaspheming men, 
Questioners of thy mysteries, that draw 
Their fellows deep into impiety ; 
And therefore doth my spirit seek thy face 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



241 



In earth's majestic solitudes. Even here 
My heart doth open all itself to thee. 
In this immensity of loneliness 
I feel thy hand upon me. To my ear 
The eternal thunder of the cataract brings 
Thy voice, and I am humbled as I hear. 

Dread torrent ! that with wonder and with fear 
Dost overwhelm the sou] of him that looks 
Upon thee, and dost bear it from itself, 
Whence hast thou thy beginning ? who supplies, 
Age after age, thy unexhausted springs ? 
What power hath ordered, that, when all thy weight 
Descends into the deep, the swollen waves 
Rise not, and roll to overwhelm the earth ? 

The Lord hath opened his omnipotent hand, 
Covered thy face with clouds, and given his voice 
To thy down-rushing waters ; he hath girt 
Thy terrible forehead with his radiant bow. 
I see thy never-resting waters run, 
And I bethink me how the tide of time 
Sweeps to eternity. So pass of man, — 
Pass, like a noon-day dream, — the blossoming days, 
And he awakes to sorrow. * t * * 

Hear, dre rt d Niagara ! my latest voice. 
Yet a few years, and the cold earth shall close 
Over the bones of him who sings the now 
Thus feelingly. Would that this, my humble verse, 
Might be, like thee, immortal. I, meanwhile, 
Cheerfully passing to the appointed rest, 

V 



242 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Might raise my radiant forehead in the clouds 
To listen to the echoes of my fame. 

PASSAGE OF THE POTOMAC AND SHENANDOAH RIVERS 
THROUGH THE BLUE RIDGE. 

JEFFERSON. 

The passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, 
is, perhaps, one of the most stupendous scenes in nature. 
You stand on a very high point of land. On your right 
comes up the Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot 
of the mountain a hundred miles, to seek a vent. On 
your left approaches the Potomac in quest of a passage 
also. In the moment of their junction they rush to- 
gether against the mountain, rend it asunder, and pass 
off to the sea. 

The first glance of this scene hurries our senses into 
the opinion, that this earth has been created in time ; 
that the mountains were formed first ; that the rivers 
began to flow afterwards ; that, in this place particularly, 
they have been dammed up by the Blue Ridge of moun- 
tains, and have formed an ocean, which filled the whole 
valley ; that, continuing to rise, they have, at length, 
broken over at this spot, and have torn the mountain 
down, from its summit to its base. The piles of rock on 
each hand, but particularly on the Shenandoah, the evi- 
dent marks of their disrupture and avulsion from their 
beds, by the most powerful agents of nature, corroborate 
this impression. 

But the distant finishing, which nature has given to the 



THE RHYTHMIC AX READER. 



243 



picture, is of a very different character. It is a true con- 
trast to the fore-ground. That is as placid and delight- 
ful, as this is wild and tremendous. For the mountain, 
being cloven asunder, presents to your eye, through the 
cleft, a small catch of smooth blue horizon, at an infinite 
distance in the plain country, inviting you, as it were, 
from the riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through 
the breach and participate of the calm below. 

Here the eye ultimately composes itself ; and that way, 
too, the road happens actually to lead. You cross the 
Potomac above the junction, pass along its side through 
the base of the mountain, for three miles; its terrible 
precipices hanging in fragments over you. This scene 
is worth a voyage across the Atlantic. Yet here, as in 
the neighbourhood of the Natural Bridge, are people, 
w ho have passed thejir lives within half a dozen miles, 
and have never been to survey these monuments of a war 
between rivers and mountains, which must have shaken 
the earth itself to its centre. 

CONTEMPLATION. 
THOMSON. 

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds, 
Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom. 
Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep, 
Let me associate with the serious Night 
And Contemplation her sedate compeer ,* 
Let me shake off the intrusive cares of day, 
And lay the meddling senses all aside. 



244 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



Where now, ye lying vanities of life ? 
Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train ! 
Where are you now ? and what is your amount ? 
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse. 
Sad, sickening thought ! And yet deluded Man, 
A scene of crude disjointed visions past, 
And broken slumbers, rises still resolv'd, 
With new-flush'd hopes, to run the giddy round. 

Father of Light and Life ! thou Good Supreme ! 
O teach me what is good ! teach me Thyself ! 
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 
From every low pursuit ! and feed my soul 
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure : 
Sacred, substantial, never-failing bliss ! 

PARALLEL BETWEEN POPE AND DRYDEN, 
JOHNSON. 

Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dry- 
den, whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he 
praised through his whole life with unvaried liberality ; 
and perhaps his character may receive some illustration, 
if he be compared with his master. 

Integrity of undertanding, and nicety of discernment, 
were not allotted in a less proportion to Dry den than to 
Pope. The rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently 
shown by the dismission of his poetbal prejudices, and 
the rejection of unnatural thoughts and rugged numbers. 
But Dryden never desired to apply all the judgment that 
he had. He wrote, and professed to write, merely for 



f ftE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



24S 



the people ; and when he pleased others, he contented 
himself. He spent no time in struggles to rouse latent 
powers : he never attempted to make that hetter which 
was already good, nor often to mend what he must have 
known to he faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very 
little consideration : when occasion or necessity called 
upon him, he poured out what the present moment hap- 
pened to supply, and, when once it had passed the press, 
ejected it from his mind ; for, when he had no pecuniary 
interest, he had no further solicitude. 

Pope was not content to satisfy ; he desired to excel, 
and therefore alw r ays endeavoured to do his best: he did not 
court the candour, but dared the judgment of his reader, 
and, expecting no indulgence from others, he showed 
none to himself. He examined lines and words with mi- 
nute and punctilious observation, and retouched every 
part with indefatigable diligence, till he had left nothing 
to be forgiven. 

For this reason he kept his pieces very long in his 
hands, while he considered and reconsidered them. The 
only poems which can be supposed to have been written 
with such regard to the times as might hasten their pub- 
lication, were the two satires of Thirty-eight : of which 
Dodsley told me, that they were brought to him by the 
author, that they might be fairly copied. " Every line,'" 
said he, * was then written twice over; I gave him a 
clean transcript, w 7 hich he sent sometime afterwards to 
me for the press, with every line written twice over a se- 
cond time. 15 

His declaration, that his care for his works ceased at 

V 2 



246 THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 

their publication, was not strictly true. His parental 
attention never abandoned them : what he found amiss 
in the first edition, he silently corrected in those that fol- 
lowed. He appears to have revised the Iliad, and freed 
it from some of its imperfections ; and the Essay on Cri- 
ticism received many improvements after its first appear- 
ance. It will seldom be found that he altered without 
adding clearness, elegance, or vigour. Pope had, per- 
haps, the judgment of Dryden ; but Dryden certainly 
wanted the diligence of Pope. 

In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed 
to Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and 
who, before he became an author, had been allowed more 
time for study, with better means of information. His 
mind has a larger range, and he collects his images and 
illustrations from a more extensive circumference of sci- 
ence. Dryden knew more of man in his general nature, 
and Fope in his local manners. The notions of Dryden 
were formed by comprehensive speculation, and those of 
Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in the 
knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in that of Pope. 

Poetry was not the sole praise of either ; for both ex- 
celled likewise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his 
prose from his predecessor. The style of Dryden is ca- 
pricious and varied ; that of Pope is cautious and uni- 
form. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind ; Pope 
constrains his mind to his own rules of composition. 
Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; Pope is al- 
ways smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dry den's page is a 
natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



247 



the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation*; Pope is a 
velvet lawn, shaven by the sithe, and levelled by the 
roller. 

Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet ; that 
quality without which judgment is cold, and knowledge 
is inert ; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, 
and animates ; the superiority must, with some hesi- 
tation, be allowed to Dryden. It is not to be inferred, 
that of this poetical vigour Pope had only a little, be- 
cause Dryden had more; for every other writer since 
Milton must give place to Pope ; and even of Dryden it 
must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs, he has 
not better poems. Dry den's performances were always 
hasty, either excited by some external occasion, or extort- 
ed by domestic necessity ; he composed without conside- 
ration, and published without correction. What his 
mind could supply at call, or gather in one excursion, 
was all that he sought, and all that he gave. The dila- 
tory caution of Pope enabled him to condense his senti- 
ments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all 
that study might produce, or chance might supply. If 
the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher, Pope con- 
tinues longer on the wing. If of Dryden'sfire the blaze 
is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and con- 
stant. Dryden often surpasses expectation, and Pope 
never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent asto- 
nishment, and Pope with perpetual delight. 

This parallel, will, I hope, when it is well considered, 
be found just ; and if the reader should suspect me, as I 
suspect myself, of some partial fondness for the memory 



248 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



of Dryden, let him not too hastily condemn me ; for 
meditation and inquiry may, perhaps, show him the rea- 
sonableness of my determination. 

DISCOVERY OF AMERICA BY COLUMBUS. 
ROBERTSON. 

On Friday, the third day of August, in the year one 
thousand four hundred and ninety two, Columbus set 
sail from Palos, in Spain, a little before sunrise, in pre- 
sence of a vast crowd of spectators, who sent up their 
supplications to heaven for the prosperous issue of the 
voyage ; which they wished, rather than expected. 

His squadron, if it merit that name, consisted of no 
more than three small vessels — the Santa Maria, the 
Pinta, and the Nigna — having on board ninety men, 
mostly sailors, together with a few adventurers, who fol- 
lowed the fortune of Columbus, and some gentlemen 
of the Spanish court, whom the queen appointed to 
accompany him. 

He steered directly for the Canary Islands ; from 
which, after refitting his ships, and supplying himself 
with fresh provisions, he took his departure on the sixth 
day of September. Here the voyage of discovery may 
properly be said to have begun ; for Columbus, holding 
his course due west, left immediately the usual track of 
navigation, and seretched into unfrequented and unknown 
seas. 

The first day, as it was very calm, he made but lit- 
tle way ; but, on the second, he lost sight of the Cana- 
ries ; and many of the sailors, already dejected and dis- 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



249 



mayed, when they contemplated the boldness of the un- 
dertaking, began to beat their breasts, and to shed tears, 
as if they were never more to behold land. Columbus 
comforted them with assurances of success, and the pros- 
pect of vast wealth in those opulent regions, whither he 
was conducting them. 

This early discovery of the spirit of his followers 
taught Columbus that he must prepare to struggle, not 
only with the unavoidable difficulties which might be 
expecting from the nature of his undertaking, but with 
such as were likely to arise from the ignorance and ti- 
midity of the people under his command ; and he per- 
ceived that the art of governing the minds of men would 
be no less requisite for accomplishing the discoveries 
which he had in view, than naval skill and enterprising 
courage. 

Happily for himself, and for the country by which he 
was employed, he joined to the ardent temper and inven- 
tive genius of a projector, virtues of another species, 
which are rarely united with them. He possessed a 
thorough knowledge of mankind, an insinuating ad- 
dress, a patient perseverance in executing any plan, the 
perfect government of his own passions, and the talent of 
acquiring the direction of those of other men. 

All these qualities which formed him for command, 
were accompanied with that superior knowledge of his 
profession, which begets confidence in times of difficulty 
and danger. To unskilful Spanish sailors, accustomed 
only to coasting voyages in the Mediterrenean, the mari- 
time science of Columbus, the fruit of thirty years' cxpe- 



250 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



rience, appeared immense. As soon as they put to sea, 
he regulated every thing by his sole authority; he super- 
intended the execution of every order, and, allowing him- 
self only a few hours for sleep, he was, at all other times, 
upon deck. 

As his course lay through seas, which had not been 
visited before, the sounding line, or instruments for ob- 
servation, were continually in his hands. He attended 
to the motion of the tides and currents, watched the 
flight of birds, the appearance of fishes, of sea-weeds, 
and of every thing that floated on the waves, and accu- 
rately noted every occurrence in a journal that he kept. 

By the fourteenth day of September, the fleet was 
above two hundred leagues to the west of the Canary 
Isles, a greater distance from land than any Spaniard 
had ever been before that time. Here the sailors were 
struck with an appearance no less astonishing than new. 
They observed that the magnetic needle, in their com- 
passes, did not point exactly to the north star, but varied 
towards the west. 

This appearance, which is now familiar, filled the 
companions of Columbus with terror. They were in an 
ocean boundless and unknown, nature itself seemed to be 
altered, and the only guide, which they had left, was 
about to fail them. Columbus, with no less quickness 
than ingenuity, invented a reason for this appearance, 
which, though it did not satisfy himself, seemed so plau- 
sible to them, that it dispelled their fears, and silenced 
their murmurs. 

On the first of October, they were about seven hundred 



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251 



and seventy leagues west of the Canaries. They had 
now been above three weeks at sea : all their prognostics 
of discovery, drawn from the flight of birds, and other 
circumstances, had proved fallacious, and their prospect 
of success seemed now to be as distant as ever. The 
spirit of discontent and of mutiny began to manifest itself 
among the sailors ; and, by degrees, the contagion spread 
from ship to ship. 

All agreed, that Columbus should be compelled, by 
force, to return, while their crazy vessels were yet in a 
condition to keep the sea; and some even proposed to throw 
him overboard, as the most expeditious method of getting 
rid of his remonstrances, and of securing a seasonable 
return to their native land. 

Columbus was fully sensible of his perilous situation. 
He perceived that it would be of no avail to have recourse 
to any of his former expedients, to lead on the hopes of 
his companions, and that it was impossible to rekindle 
any zeal for the success of the expedition, among men in 
whose breasts fear had extinguished every generous 
sentiment. 

He found it necessary to sooth passions, which he 
could no longer command, and to give way to a torrent 
too impetuous to be checked. He accordingly promised 
his men, that he would comply with their request, provi- 
ded they would accompany him, and obey his commands, 
for three days longer ; and if, during that time, land were 
not discovered, he would then abandon the enterprise, 
and direct his course towards Spain. 

Enraged as the sailors were, and impatient as they 



252 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



were of returning to their native country, this proposition 
did not appear to them unreasonable : nor did Columbus 
hazard much in confining himself to a time so short; for 
the presages of discovering land had become so numerous 
and promising, that he deemed them infallible. 

For some days, the sounding line had reached the bot- 
tom ; and the soil which it brought up, indicated land to 
be at no great distance. The flocks of birds increased, 
and were composed not only of sea-fowl, but of such land 
birds as could not be supposed to fly far from the shore. 

The crew of the Pitna observed a cane floating, which 
seemed to have been newly cut, and likewise a piece of 
timber, artificially carved. The sailors aboard the Nig- 
na took up the branch of a tree, with red berries, perfecly 
fresh. The clouds around the setting sun, assumed a new 
appearance ; the air was more mild and warm ; and, du- 
ring night, the wind became unequal and variable. 

From all these symptoms, Columbus was so confident 
of being near land, that, on the evening of the eleventh 
of October, after public prayers for success, he ordered 
the sails to be furled, and strict watch to be kept, lest the 
ship should be driven ashore in the night. During this 
interval of suspense and expectation, no man shut his 
eyes; all kept upon deck, gazing intently towards that 
quarter where they expected to discover the land, which 
had been so long the object of their wishes. 

About two hours before midnight, Columbus, standing 
on the forecastle observed a light at a distance, and pri- !j 
vately pointed it out to two of his people. All three saw 
it in motion, as if it were carried from place to place. A 



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253 



little after midnight, the joyful sound of Land! Land! 
was heard from the Pinta. But, having been so often de- 
ceived by fallacious appearances, they had now become 
slow of belief, and waited, in all the anguish of uncer- 
tainty and impatience, for the return of day. 

As soon as morning dawned, their doubts and fears 
were dispelled. They beheld an island about two leagues 
to the north, whose flat and verdant fields, well stored 
with wood, and watered with many rivulets, presented 
to them the aspect of a delightful country. The crew of 
the Pinta instantly began a hymn of thanksgiving to 
God, and were joined by those of the other ships, with 
tears of joy, and transports of congratulation. 

This office of gratitude to Heaven was followed by an 
act of justice to their commander. They threw them- 
selves at the feet of Columbus, with feelings of self-con- 
demnation, mingled with reverence. They implored him 
to pardon their ignorance, incredulity, and insolence^ 
which had created him so much unnecessary disquiet, 
and had so often obstructed the prosecution of his well- 
concerted plan ; and passing, in the warmth of their ad- 
miration, from one extreme to another, they now 7 pro- 
nounced the man, whom they had so lately reviled and 
threatened, to be a person inspired by Heaven, with sa- 
gacity and fortitude more than human, in order to accom- 
plish a design so far beyond the ideas and conceptions of 
all former ages. 

As soon as the sun arose, all the boats were manned 
and armed. They rowed towards the island with their 

colours displayed, warlike music, and other martial 

W 



254 



THE RHYTHMICAL READEK* 



pomp ; and, as they approached the coast, they saw it 
covered with a multitude of people, whom the novelty of 
the spectacle had drawn together, and whose attitudes 
and gestures expressed wonder and astonishment at the 
strange objects which presented themselves to their 
view. 

Columbus was the first European who set foot in the 
New World which he had discovered. He landed in a 
rich dress, and with a naked sword in his hand. His 
men followed, and kneeling down, they all kissed the 
ground which they had long desired to see. 

They next erected a crucifix, and, prostrating them- 
selves before it, returned thanks to God for conducting 
their voyage to such a happy issue. They then took sol- 
emn possession of the country for the crown of Castile 
and Leon, with all the formalities with which the Portu- 
guese were accustomed to take possession of their new 
discoveries. 

The Spaniards, while thus employed, were surrounded 
by many of the natives, who gazed, in silent admiration, 
upon actions which they could not comprehend, and of 
which they did not foresee the consequences. The dress 
of the Spaniards, the whiteness of their skins, their 
beards, their arms, appeared strange and surprising. 

The vast machines, in which they had traversed the 
ocean, that seemed to move upon the water with wings, 
and uttered a dreadful sound, resembling thunder, ac- 
companied with lightning and smoke, struck them with 
such terror, that they began to respect their new guests 
as a superior order of beings, and concluded that they 



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255 



were children of the sun, who had descended to visit the 
earth. 

The Europeans were hardly less amazed at the scene 
now before them. Every herb, and shrub, and tree, was 
different from those which flourished in Europe. The soil 
seemed to be rich, but bore few marks of cultivation. The 
climate, even to Spaniards, felt warm, though extremely 
delightful. 

The inhabitants were entirely naked: their black hair, 
long and uncurled, floated upon their shoulders, or was 
bound in tresses around their heads ; they had no beards ; 
their complexion was of a dusky copper colour; their 
features singular, rather than disagreeable ; their aspect 
gentle and timid. 

Though not tall they were well shaped and active. 
Their faces, and other parts of their body, were fantas- 
tically painted with glaring colours. They were shy at 
first, through fear, but soon became familiar with the 
Spaniards ; and, with transports of joy, received from 
them hawks' bells, glass beads, and other baubles; in 
return for which, they gave such provisions as they had, 
and some cotton yarn, the only commodity of value which 
they could produce. 

Towards evening Columbus returned to his ships, ac- 
companied by many of the islanders in their bopts, which 
they called canoes ; and, though rudely formed out of the 
trunk of a single tree, they rowed them with surprising 
dexterity. Thus, in the first interview between the in- 
habitants of the Old World and those of the New, every 
thing was conducted amicably, and to their mutual satis- 



256 THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

faction. The former, enlightened and ambitious, formed 
already vast ideas with respect to the advantages which 
they might derive from those regions that began to open 
to their view. The latter, simple and undiscerning, had 
no foresight of the calamities and desolation, which were 
now approaching their country. 

CHILDHOOD AND MANHOOD— AN APOLOGUE, 
CRABBE. 

" Men are but children of a larger growth." 

'Twas eight o'clock, and near the fire 

My ruddy little boy was seated, 
And with the title of a sire 

My ears expected to be greeted : — 
But vain the thought : by sleep oppressed, 

No father there the child descried ; 
His head reclined upon his breast, 

Or, nodding, rolled from side to side. 

"Let this young rogue be sent to bed"— 

Nought further had I time to say, 
When the poor urchin raised his head 

To beg that he might longer stay. 
Refused, towards rest his steps he bent, 

With tearful eye and aching heart ; 
But claimed his playthings ere he went, 

And took up stairs his horse and cart. 

For new delay, though oft denied, 
He pleaded j wildly craved the boon : 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 

Though past his usual hour, he cried 

At being sent away so soon. 
If stern to him, his grief I shared ; 

(Unmoved who hears his offspring weep 
Of soothing him I half despaired ; 

But soon his cares were lost in sleep. 

66 Alas ! poor infant I exclaimed, 

" Thy father blushes now to scan, 
In all which he so lately blamed, 

The follies and the fears of man. 
The vain regret, the anguish brief, 

Which thou has known, sent up to bed, 
Portrays of man the idle grief, 

When doomed to slumber with the dead. 

And more I thought, when, up the stairs, 

With " longing, lingering looks," he ere 
To mark of man the childish cares, 

His playthings carefully he kept. 
Thus mortals, on life's later stage, 

When nature claims their forfeit breath, 
Still grasp at wealth in pain and age, 

And cling to golden toys in death. 

*Tis morn ; and see, my smiling boy 
Awakes to hail returning light, — 

To fearless laughter, — boundless joy, — 
Forgot the tears of yesternight. 

Thus shall not man forget his wo ? 
Survive of age and death the gloom ? 
2 W 



258 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



Smile at the cares he knew below? 
And, renovated, burst the tomb ? 

O, my Creator ! when thy will 

Shall stretch this frame on earth's cold bed, 
Let that blest hope sustain me still, 

'Till thought, sense, memory — all are fled. 
And, grateful for what thou may'st give, 

No tear shall dim my fading eye, 
That 'twas thy pleasure I should live, 

That' tis thy mandate bids me die. 

PENN'S TREATY WITH THE AMERICAN INDIANS. 
EDINBURGH REVIEW. 

The country assigned to him by the royal charter was 
yet full of its original inhabitants ; and the principles of 
William Penn did not allow him to look upon that gift 
as a warrant to dispossess the first proprietors of the 
land. He had accordingly appointed his commissioners, 
the preceding year, to treat with them for the fair pur- 
chase of a part of their lands, and for their joint posses- 
sion of the remainder ; and the terms of the settlement be- 
ing now nearly agreed upon, he proceeded very soon 
after his arrival, to conclude the settlement, and solemnly 
to pledge his faith, and to ratify and confirm the treaty 
in sight of both the indians and planters. 

For this purpose a grand convocation of the tribes had 
been appointed near the spot where Philadelphia now 
stands ; and it was agreed that he and the presiding 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



259 



Sachems should meet and exchange faith, under the 
spreading branches of a prodigious elm-tree, that grew 
on the bank of the river. On the day appointed, accord- 
ingly, an innumerable multitude of the Indians assembled 
in that neighbourhood ; and were seen, with their dark 
visages and brandished arms, moving, in vast swarms, 
in the depth of the woods which then overshadowed the 
whole of that now cultivated region. 

On the other hand, William Penn, with a moderate 
attendance of friends advanced to meet them. He came, 
of course, unarmed — in his usual plain dress— without 
banners, or mace, or guard, or carriages ; and only dis- 
tinguished from his companions by wearing a blue sash 
of silk net-work, (which it seems is still preserved by 
Mr. Kett, of Seething-hall, near Norwich,) and by 
having in his hand a roll of parchment, on which was 
engrossed the confirmation of the treaty cf purchase and 
amity. As soon as he drew near the spot where the 
Sachems were assembled, the whole multitude of Indians 
threw down their weapons, and seated themselves on the 
ground in groups, each under his own chieftain ; and the 
presiding chief intimated to William Penn, that the na- 
tions were ready to hear him. 

Having been thus called upon, he began : "The Great 
Spirit, 5 ' he said, " who made him and them, who ruled 
the heaven and the earth, and who knew the innermost 
thoughts of man, knew that he and his friends had a 
hearty desire to live in peace and friendship with them, 
and to serve them to the utmost of their power. It was 
not their custom to use hostile weapons against their fel- 



260 



rtUfi RHYTHMICAL READER* 



low creatures, for which reason they had come unarmed* 
Their object was not to do injury, and thus provoke the 
Great Spirit, but to do good. They were then met on 
the broad pathway of good faith and good will, so that 
no advantage was to be taken on either side, but all was 
to be openness, brotherhood, and love." 

After these and other words, he unrolled the parch- 
ment, and by means of the same interpreter, conveyed to 
them, article by article, the conditions of the purchase, 
and the words of the compact then made for their 
eternal union. Among other things, they were not to be 
molested in their lawful pursuits even in the territory 
thy had alienated, for it was to be common to them and 
the English., They were to have the same liberty to do 
all things therein, relating to the improvement of their 
grounds, and the providing of sustenance for their fami- 
lies, which the English had. If any disputes should arise 
between the two, they should be settled by twelve per- 
sons, half of whom should be English, and half Indians. 

He then paid them for the land, and made them many 
presents besides, from the merchandise which had been 
spread before them. Having done this, he laid the roll 
of parchment on the ground, observing again, that the 
ground should be common to both people. He then add- 
ed that he would not do as the Marylanders did, that is, 
call them Children or Brothers only ; for often parents 
were apt to whip their children too severely, and brothers 
sometimes would differ ; neither would he compare the 
friendship between him and them to a chain, for the 
rain might sometimes rust it, or a tree might fall and 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



break it ; but he would consider them as the same flesh 
and blood with the Christians, and the same as if one 
man's body were to be divided into two parts. He then 
took up the parchment, and presented it to the Sachem 
who wore the horn in the chaplet, and desired him and 
the other Sachems to preserve it carefully for three gen- 
erations, that their children might know what had passed 
between them, just as if he himself had remained with 
them to repeat it. 

The Indians, in return, made long and stately ha- 
rangues — of which, however, no more seems to have 
been remembered, but that " they pledged themselves 
to live in love with William Penn and his children, 
as long as the sun and moon shall endure." And 
thus ended this famous treaty of which Voltaire 
has remarked, with so much truth and severity, "that 
it was the only one ever concIuJed between savages and 
christians that was not ratified by an oath — and the only 
one that never was broken \" 

Such, indeed, was the spirit in which the negociation 
was entered into, and the corresponding settlement con- 
ducted, that, for the space of more than seventy years, 
and so long indeed as the Quakers retained the chief 
power in the government, the peace and amity which had 
been thus solemnly promised and concluded, never was 
violated ; and a large and most striking, though solitary 
example afforded, of the facility with which they who 
are really sincere and friendly in their own views, may 
live in harmony even with those who are supposed to be 
peculiarly fierce and faithless. 



262 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



WITHOUT GOD IN THE WORD. 
REV. ROBERT HALL. 

The exclusion of a Supreme Being, and of a superin- 
tending providence, tends directly to the destruction of 
moral taste. It robs the universe of all finished and 
consummate excellence even in idea. The admiration of 
perfect wisdom and goodness for which we are formed, 
and which kindles such unspeakable rapture in the soul, 
finding in the regions of scepticism nothing to which it 
corresponds, droops and languishes. In a world which 
presents a fair spectacle of order and beauty, of a vast 
family nourished and supported by an Almighty Parent ; 
in a world which leads the devout mind, step by step, to 
the contemplation of the first fair and the first good, the 
sceptic is encompassed w ith nothing but obscurity, mean- 
ness, and disorder. 

When we reflect on the manner in which the idea of 
Deity is formed, we must be convinced that such an idea 
intimately present to the mind, must have a most power- 
ful effect in refining the moral taste. Composed of the 
richest elements, it embraces in the character of a benef- 
icent Parent and Almighty Ruler, whatever is venerable 
in wisdom, whatever is awful in authority, whatever is 
touching in goodness. 

Human excellence is blended with many imperfections, 
and seen under many limitations. It is beheld only in 
detached and separate portions, nor ever appears in any 
one character whole and entire. So that when, in imita- 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



263 



tion of the Stoics, w© wish to form out of these fragments 
the notion of a perfectly wise and good man, we know it 
is a mere fiction of the mind, without any real being in 
whom it is embodied and realized. In the belief of a 
Deity, these conceptions are reduced to reality ; the 
scattered rays of an ideal excellence are concentrated, 
and become the real attributes of that Being with whom 
we stand in the nearest relation, who sits supreme at the 
head of the universe, is armed with infinite power, and 
pervades all nature with his presence. 

The efficacy of these sentiments in producing and aug- 
menting a virtuous taste, will indeed be proportioned to 
the vividness with which they are formed, and the fre- 
quency with which they recur ; yet some benefit will not 
fail to result from them even in their lowest degree. 

The idea of the Supreme Being has this peculiar prop- 
erty ; that, as it admits of no substitute, so, from the 
first moment it is impressed, it is capable of continual 
growth and enlargement. God himself is immutable; 
but our conception of his character is continually receiv- 
ing fresh accessions ; is continually growing more extend- 
ed and refulgent, by having transferred upon it new per- 
ceptions of beauty and goodness ; by attracting to itself* 
as a centre, whatever bears the impress of dignity, order, 
or happiness. It borrows splendour from all that is fair, 
subordinates to itself all that is great, and sits en- 
throned on the riches of the universe. 



264 



THE RHYTHMIC Ali READER. 



INDUSTRY RECOMMENDED. 
X0RD CHESTERFIELD • 

Very few people are good economists of their fortune, 
and still fewer of their time; and yet of the two, the lat- 
ter is the most precious. I heartily wish you to be a 
good economist of both ; and you are now of an age to 
begin to think seriously of these two important articles. 
Young people are apt to think they have so much time 
before them, that they may squander what they please of 
it, and yet have enough left ; as very great fortunes have 
frequently seduced people to a ruinous profusion. Fatal 
mistakes, always repented of, but always too late ! Old 
Mr. Lowndes, the famous secretary of the treasury, in 
the reigns of king William, queen Ann, and king George 
the First, used to say, " Take care of the pence, and the 
pounds will take care of themselves. " 

This holds equally true as to time ; and I most earnest- 
ly recommend to you the care of those minutes and quar- 
ters of hours, in the course of the day, which people think 
too short to deserve their attention ; and yet, if summed 
up at the end of the year, would amount to a very con- 
siderable portion of time. For example : you are to be 
at such a place at twelve, by appointment : you go out 
at eleven, to make two or three visits first ; those persons 
are not at home : instead of sauntering away that inter- 
mediate time at a coffee-house, and possibly alone ; re- 
turn home, write a letter, beforehand, for the ensuing 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



265 



post, or lake up a good book, I do not mean Descartes, 
Malbranche, Locke, or Newton, by way of dipping ; but 
some book of rational amusement, and detached pieces, 
as Horace, Boileau, Waller, LaBruyere, &c. This will 
be so much time saved, and by no means ill employed. 
Many people lose a great deal of time by reading : for 
they read frivolous and idle books ; such as the absurd 
romances of the two last centuries, where characters, that 
never existed, are insipidly displayed, and sentiments, 
that were never felt, pompously described ; the oriental 
ravings and extravagancies of the Arabian Nights, and 
Mogul Tales ; and such sort of idle, frivolous stuff, that 
nourishes and improves the mind just as much as whipped 
cream would the body. Stick to the best established 
books in every language ; the celebrated poets, historians, 
orators, or philosophers. By these means (to use a city 
metaphor) you will make fifty percent of that time, of 
which others do not make above three or four, or proba- 
bly nothing at all. 

Many people lose a great deal of their time by lazi- 
ness ; they loll and yawn in a great chair, tell themselves 
that they have not time to begin any thing then, and that 
it will do as well another time. This is a most unfor- 
tunate disposition, and the greatest obstruction to both 
knowledge and business. At your age, you have no 
right nor claim to laziness. You are but just listed in 
the world, and must be active, diligent, indefatigable. If 
ever you propose commanding with dignity, you must 
serve up to it with diligence. Never put off till to-mor- 
row what you can do to-day. 

X 



266 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



Despatch is the soul of business ; and nothing con- 
tributes more to despatch, than method. Lay down a 
method for every thing, and stick to it inviolably, as far 
as unexpected incidents may allow. Fix one certain 
hour and day in the week for your accounts, and keep 
them together in their proper order ; by which means 
they will require very litle time, and you can never be 
much cheated. Whatever letters and papers you keep, 
docket and tie them up in their respective classes, so 
that you may instantly have recourse to any one. Lay 
down a method also for your reading, for which you allot 
a certain share of your mornings ; let it be in a consist- 
ent and consecutive course, and not in that desultory and 
immethodical manner, in which many people read scraps 
of different authors, upon different subjects. Keep a 
useful and short common-place book of what you read, 
to help your memory only, and not for pedantic quota- 
tions. Never read history without having maps, and a 
chronological book, or tables lying by you, and constantly 
recurred to ; w ithout which, history is only a confused 
heap of facts. One method more I recommend to you, 
by which I have found great benefit, even in the most 
dissipated part of my life : that is, to rise early, and at 
the same hour every morning, how late soever you may 
have sat up the night before. 

You will say, it may be, as many young people would, 
that all this order and method is very troublesome, only 
fit for dull people, and a disagreeable restraint upon the 
noble spirit and fire of youth. I deny it j and assert, on 
the contrary, that it will procure you, both more time 



THE "RHYTHMICAL READER. 



267 



and more taste for your pleasures ; and, so far from being 
troublesome to you, that, after you have pursued it a 
month, it would be troublesome to you to lay it aside. 

THE LOVE OF COUJNTRY AND OF HOME. 
MONTGOMERY. 

There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons emparadise the night ; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; 
In every clime the magnet of his soul, 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole : 
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, 
The heritage of nature's noblest race, 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While, in his softened looks, benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend. 

Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife, 
Strows with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; 
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 



268 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 
Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. 
Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found ? 
Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ; 
Oh ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home. 

VIEW OF MONT BLANC AT SUNSET. 
GRISCOM. 

We arrived, before sundown, at the village of St. Mar- 
tin, where we were to stay for the night. The evening 
being remarkably fine, we crossed the Arve on a beauti- 
ful bridge, and walked over to Salenche, a very con- 
siderable village, opposite to St Martin, and ascended a 
hill to view the effect of the sun's declining light upon 
Mont Blanc. The scene was truly grand. The broad 
range of the mountain was fully before us, of a pure and 
almost glowing white, apparently to its very base; and 
which, contrasted with the brown tints of the adjoining 
mountains, greatly heightened the novelty of the scene. 
We could scarcely avoid the conclusion, that this vast 
pile of snow was very near us ; and yet its base was not 
less than fifteen, and its summit, probably, more than 
twenty miles from the place where we stood. 

The varying rays of light, produced by reflection from 
the snow, passing, as the sun's rays declined, from a 
brilliant white through purple and pink, and ending in 
the gentle light which the snow gives after the sun has 
set, afforded an exhibition in optics upon a scale of gran- 



THE RHYTHMIC AIi HEADER. 



369 



deur, which no other region in the world could probably 
excel. Never, in my life, have my feelings been so 
powerfully affected, by mere scenery, as they were in 
this day's exclusion. The excitement, though attended 
by sensations awfully impressive, is, nevertheless, so 
finely attempered by the glow of novelty, incessantly 
mingled with astonishment and admiration, as to pro- 
duce, on the whole a feast of delight. 

A few years ago, I stood upon Table Rock, and placed 
my cane in the descending flood of Niagara. Its tremen- 
dous roar almost entirely precluded conversation with 
the friend at my side ; while its whirlwind of mist and 
foam filled the air to a great distance around me. The 
rainbow sported in its bosom ; the gulf below exhibited 
the wild fury of an immense boiling caldron ; while the 
rapids above, for the space of nearly a mile, appeared 
like a mountain of billows chafing and dashing against 
each other with thundering impetuosity, in their eager 
strife to gain the precipice, and take the awful leap. 

In contemplating this scene, my imagination and my 
heart were filled with sublime and tender emotions. The 
soul seemed to be brought a step nearer to the presence 
of that incomprehensible Being, whose spirit dwelt in 
every feature of the cataract, and directed all its ama- 
zing energies. Yet, in the scenery of this day, there was 
more of a pervading sense of awful and unlimited gran- 
deur; mountain piled upon mountain, in endless con- 
tinuity, throughout the whole extent, and crowned by 
the brightest effulgence of an evening sun, upon the ever- 
lasting snows of the highest pinnacle of Europe, 

X 2 



270 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



EXTRACT FROM MR. PITT'S SPEECH ON THE SLAVE 
TRADE. 

Sir — It is alleged that Africa labours under a natural 
incapacity for civilization, that it is enthusiasm and fa- 
naticism to think that she can ever enjoy the knowledge 
and the morals of Europe ; that Providence never in- 
tended her to rise above a state of barbarism. Allow of 
this principle, as applied to Africa, and I should be glad 
to know, why it might not also have been applied to an- 
cient and uncivilized Britain. 

Sir, the condition of this country was once as deplo- 
rable as that of Africa. There was a time, sir, when even 
human sacrifices are said to have been offered in this 
island. Nay, the very practice of the Slave Trade, once 
prevailed among us. Slaves were formerly an established 
article of our exports. Great numbers were exported 
like cattle from the British coast, and were to be seen 
exposed for sale in the Roman market. 

Why might not some Roman Senator, reasoning on 
the principles of the honourable gentlemen, and pointing 
to British barbarians, have predicted with equal bold- 
ness, " there is a people that will never rise to civiliza- 
tion — there is a people never destined to be free — a peo- 
ple without the understanding necessary for the attain- 
ment of useful arts ; depressed by the hand of nature 
below the level of the human species ; and created to 
form a supply of slaves for the rest of the world." 



THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 



271 



Might not this have been said, according to the princi- 
ples, which we now hear stated in all respects as fairly 
and as truly of Britain herself at that period of her his- 
tory, as it can now be said by us of the inhabitants of 
Africa? 

Yet we, sir, have long since emerged from barbarism. 
We have almost forgotten that we were once barbarians. 
Yet we were once as obscure among the nations of the 
earth, as savage in our manners, as debased in our mor- 
als, as degraded in our understandings, as these unhap- 
py Africans are at present. But in the lapse of a long 
series of years, by a progression slow, and, for a time, 
almost imperceptible, we have become rich in a variety 
of acquirements, favoured above measure in the gifts of 
Providence — unrivalled in commerce, pre-eminent in 
arts, foremost in the pursuits of philosophy and science, 
and established in all the blessings of civil society. 

We are in the possession of peace, of happiness, and 
of liberty. We are under the guidance of a mild and 
beneficent religion : and we are protected by impartial 
laws, and the purest administration of justice. From 
all these blessings we must for ever have been shut out, 
had there been any truth in those principles which some 
gentlemen have not hesitated to lay down as applicable 
to Africa. Ages might have passed without our emerg- 
ing from barbarism ; we might at this hour have been 
little superior either in morals, in knowledge, or refine- 
ment, to the rude inhabitants of Guinea. 

I trust we shall no longer continue this commerce, to 
the destruction of every improvement on that wide con- 



272 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



tinent. If we listen to the voice of reason and duty, and 
pursue this night the line of conduct which they pre- 
scribe, some of us may live to see a reverse of that pic- 
ture, from which we now turn our eyes with shame and 
regret. 

We may live to behold the natives of Africa, engaged 
in the calm occupations of industry, in the pursuits of a 
just and legitimate commerce. We may behold the 
beams of science and philosophy breaking in upon their 
land, which at some happy period in still later times, 
may blaze w T ith full lustre ; and joining their influence 
to that of pure religion, may illuminate and invigorate 
the most distant extremities of that immense continent. 

Then may we hope that even Africa, though last of 
all the quarters of the globe, shall enjoy at length in the 
evening of her days those blessings, which have descend- 
ed so plentifully upon us in a much earlier period of the 
world. 

RELIGION THE ONLY BASIS OF SOCIETY. 
CHANNItfG. 

Religion is a social concern ; for it operates power- 
fully on society, contributing, in various ways, to its sta- 
bility and prosperity. Religion is not merely a private 
affair; the community is deeply interested in its diffu- 
sion ; for it is the best support of the virtues and prin- 
ciples, on which the social order rests. Pure and unde- 
filed religion is, to do good ; and it follows, very plainly, 
that, if God be the Author and Friend of society, then 



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273 



the recognition of him must enforce all social duty, and 
enlightened piety must give its whole strength to public 
order. 

Few men suspect, perhaps no man comprehends, the 
extent of the support given by religion to every virtue. 
No man, perhaps, is aware, how much our moral and so- 
cial sentiments are fed from this fountain ; how power- 
less conscience would become, without the belief of a 
God ; how palsied would be human benevolence, were 
there not the sense of a higher benevolence to quicken 
and sustain it ; how suddenly the whole social fabric 
would quake, and with what a fearful crash it would sink 
into hopeless ruin, were the ideas of a Supreme Being, 
of accountableness, and of a future life, to be utterly 
erased from every mind. 

And let men thoroughly believe that they are the work 
and sport of chance : that no superior intelligence con- 
cerns itself with human affairs ; that all their improve- 
ments perish for ever at death ; that the weak have no 
guardian, and the injured no avenger ; that there is no 
recompense for sacrifices to uprightness and the public 
good ; that an oath is unheard in heaven ; that se- 
cret crimes have no witness but the perpetrator; that 
human existence has no purpose, and human virtue no 
unfailing friend ; that this brief life is every thing to us, 
and death is total, everlasting extinction ; once let them 
thoroughly abandon religion; and who can conceive or 
describe the extent of the desolation which would fol- 
low! 

We hope, perhaps, that human laws and natural sym- 



274 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



pathy would hold society together. As reasonably might 
we believe, that, were the sun quenched in the heavens, 
our torches would illuminate, and our fires quicken and 
fertilize the creation. What is there in human nature 
to awaken respect and tenderness, if man is the unpro- 
tected insect of a day? And what is he more, if atheism 
be true? 

Erase all thought and fear of God from a community, 
and selfishness and sensuality would absorb the whole 
man. Appetite, knowing no restraint, and suffering, 
having no solace or hope, would trample in scorn on the 
restraints of human laws. Virtue, duty, principle, would 
be mocked and spurned as unmeaning sounds. A sordid 
self-interest would supplant every other feeling ; and 
man would become, in fact, what the theory of atheism 
declares him to be — a companion for brutes. 

ON SINCERITY. 
TILLOTSON. 

Truth and sincerity have all the advantages of ap- 
pearance, and many more. If the show of any thing be 
good, I am sure the reality is better ; for why does any 
man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, — but 
because he thinks it good to have the qualities he pre- 
tends to? Now the best way for a man to seem to be 
any thing, is to be in reality what he would seem to be : 
besides, — it is often as troublesome to support the pre- 
tence of a good quality, as to have it : and, if a man 
have it not, it is most likely he will be discovered to 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



275 



want it ; and, then, all his labour to seem to have it, is 
lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which 
a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and 
complexion. 

Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem 
good, let him be so indeed : and then his goodness will 
appear to every one's satisfaction. Particularly, as to 
the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages 
over all the artificial modes of dissimulation and deceit. 
It is much the plainer and easier, — much the safer, and 
more secure way of dealing in the world ; it has less of 
trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, 
of danger and hazard in it. The arts of deceit and cun- 
ning continually grow weaker, and less serviceable to 
those that practice them ; whereas integrity gains 
strength by use ; and the more and longer any man prac- 
tiseth it the greater service it does him ; by confirming 
his reputation, and encouraging those with whom he hath 
to do, to repose the greatest confidence in him ; which 
is an unspeakable advantage in business and the affairs 
of life. 

But insincerity is very troublesome to manage. A hy- 
pocrite hath so many things to attend to, as make his life 
a very perplexed and intricate thing. A liar hath need 
of a good memory, lest he contradict at one time, what 
he said at another ; but truth is always consistent, 
and needs nothing to help it out; it is always near at 
hand, and sits upon our lips 3 whereas a lie is trouble- 
some, and needs a great many more to make it good. 

In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought to 



276 THE RHYTHMICAL HEADER. 

be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon over ; but 
the inconvenience of it is perpetual ; because it brings a 
man under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion ; so 
that he is not believed when he speaks the truth ; nor 
trusted when, perhaps, he means honestly. When a man 
hath once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, — 
nothing will then serve his turn ; neither truth nor false- 
hood. 

Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for a 
day, and should never have occasion to converse more 
with mankind, it were then no great matter (as far as 
respects the affairs of this world) if he spent his reputa- 
tion all at once; or ventured it at one throw. But if he 
be to continue in the world, and would have the advan- 
tage of reputation whilst he is in it, let him make use of 
truth and sincerity in allf his w T ords and actions ; for 
nothing but this will hold out to the end. All other arts 
may fail ; but truth and integrity will carry a man 
through, and bear him out to the last. 

THE GOODNESS OF THE DEITY. 
PAIiEY. 

The proof of the Divine Goodness, rests upon two 
propositions, each capable of being sustained by obser- 
vations drawn from the appearances of nature. The 
first is "that in a vast plurality of instances, in which 
contrivance is perceived, the design of the contrivance 
is beneficial." The second "that the Deity has super- 
aded pleasure to animal sensations, beyond what was ne- 



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277 



cessary for any other purpose ; or, when the purpose, so 
far as it was necessary, might have been effected by the 
operation of pain." 

First, no productions of nature display contrivance 
so manifestly as the parts of animals : and the parts of 
animals, have, I believe, universally, a real, and, with 
very few exceptions, a known and intelligent subservien- 
cy to the use of the animal. Now, when the multitude 
of animals is considered, the number of parts in each, 
their figure and fitness, the faculties depending upon 
them, the variety of species, the complexity of structure, 
we can never reflect, without the profoundest adora- 
tion, upon the character of that Being from whom all 
these things have proceeded : we cannot help acknow- 
ledging what an exertion of benevolence creation was, 
how minute in its care, how vast in its comprehension. 

When we appeal to the parts and faculties of animals, 
we state, I conceive, the proper medium of proof for the 
conclusion which we wish to establish. The benevolence 
of the Deity, can only be considered in relation to sen- 
sitive being. The parts, therefore, especially the limbs 
and senses, of animals, although they constitute in mass 
and quantity, a small portion of the material creation, 
yet, since they alone are instruments of perception, they 
compose the whole of the visible nature estimated with 
a view to the disposition of its Author. Consequently, 
it is by these that we are to prove, that the world was 
made with a benevolent design. 

Nor is the design abortive. It is, after all, a happy 

world. The air, the earth, the water teem with delight- 

Y 



278 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



ed existence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, 
on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy be- 
ings crowd upon my view, "The insect youth are on 
the wing." Swarms of new born flies are trying their 
pinions in the air. Their sportive motions, their wan- 
ton images, their gratuitous activity, their continual 
change of place without use or purpose, testify their joy, 
and the exultation which they feel in their lately disco- 
vered faculties. 

A bee among the flowers, in spring, is one of the 
cheerfulest objects that can be looked upon. Its life ap- 
pears to be all enjoyment ; so busy, so pleased it seems : 
yet it is only a specimen, of insect life, with which, be- 
cause the animal is half domesticated, we are better ac- 
quainted than with that of others. The whole winged 
insect tribe, it is probable, are equally intent upon their 
proper employments, and under every variety of consti- 
tution, gratified, and perhaps equally, by the offices which 
the Author of their nature has assigned to them. 

Nor are the waters less peopled with active and hap- 
py inhabitants. The margins of rivers, of lakes, and 
of the sea itself produce shoals of the fry of fish. These 
are so happy that they know not what to do with them- 
selves. Their attitudes, their vivacity, their wanton fro- 
lics, their leaps out of the water, show their excess of 
spirits, and are simply the effects of that excess. 

What scene can present a finer picture of calm enjoy- 
ment than large herds of cattle when grazing and repo- 
sing in the meadows ; intermingled with flocks of sheep 
accompanied by their frisking young. If, moreover, we 



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279 



reflect that each individual of the numerous species which 
cover the earth or fill the air and the waters, is in a state 
of positive enjoyment, what a scene of gratification and 
pleasure is brought before our view when we consider the 
whole collectively. 

The young of all animals appear to me to receive 
pleasure, simply from the exercise of their limbs and 
bodily faculties. A child is delighted with speaking 
without having any thing to say, and with walking with- 
out knowing where to go. And, prior to both these, I 
am disposed to believe the waking hours of infancy are 
agreeably taken up with the exercise of vision, or, per- 
haps, more properly speaking, with learning to see. \ 

But it is not for youth alone that the great parent of 
creation hath provided. Happiness is found in the arm 
chair of dozing age, as well as in the sprightliness of 
the dance, and the animation of the chace. To novelty, 
to acuteness of sensation, to hope, to ardour of purs, it, 
succeeds, what is, in no considerable degree, an equiva- 
lent for them all, " perception of ease." 

This " perception ^ oftentimes renders old age a con- 
dition of great comfort; especially when riding at its 
anchor, after a busy and tempestuous life. The appear- 
ance of satisfaction, with which most animals, as their 
activity subsides, seek and enjoy rest, affords reason to 
believe, that this source of gratification is appointed to 
advanced life, under all, or most, of its varied forms. 
In the species with which we are best acquainted, name- 
ly, our own, I am far, even as an observer of human life, 
from thinking, that youth is its happiest season, much 



280 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



less the only happy one ; as a Christian, I am willing to 
believe that there is a great deal of truth in the follow- 
ing representation given by a very pious writer as well 
as excellent man. 

" To the intelligent and virtuous, old age presents a 
scene of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetites, of 
well regulated affections, of maturity in knowledge, and 
of calm preparation for immortality. In this serene and 
dignified state, placed as it were, on the confines of two 
worlds, the mind of a good man, reviews what is past 
with the complacency of an approving conscience, and 
looks forward with humble confidence in the mercy of 
God, and with devout aspirations, towards his eternal 
and ever increasing favour." 



JOB BEMOANETH HIMSELF. 

Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when 
God preserved me ; when his candle shined upon my 
head, and when by his light I walked through darkness ; 
as I was in the days of my youth, when the secret of God 
was upon my tabernacle ; when the Almighty was yet 
with me, when my children were about me ; when I 
washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me 
out rivers of oil ; when I went out to the gate through 
the city when I prepared my seat in the street! The 
young men saw me, and hid themselves, and the aged 
arose, and stood up. The princes refrained talking, and 
laid their hand on their mouth. The nobles held their 



*TME UflYTHMICAI READER. 



281 



p^aec, and their tongue cleaved to the roof of their 
mouth. 

When the ear heard me, then it hlessed me ; and when 
the eye saw me, it gave witness to me ; because I deli* 
vered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him 
that had none to help him. The blessing of him that 
was ready to perish came upon me : and I caused the wi- 
dow's heart to sing for joy. I put on righteousness, and 
it clothed me : my judgment was as a robe and a diadem. 
I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I 
was a father to the poor ; and the cause which I knew 
not I searched out. And I brake the jaws of the wick- 
ed, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth. Then I said, 
I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as 
the sand. My root was spread out by the waters, and 
the dew lay all night upon my branch. My glory was 
fresh in me, and my bow was renewed in my hand. Unto 
me men gave ear, and waited, and kept silence at my 
counsel. After my words they spake not again ; and 
my speech dropped upon them. And they w aited for me 
as for the rain; and they opened their mouth wide as for 
the latter rain. If I laughed on them, they believed it 
not: and the light of my countenance they cast not 
down. I chose out their way, and sat chief, and dwelt 
as a king in the army, as one that comforteth the 
mourners. 

Y 2 



282 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



TWILIGHT— HOPE, 
HAXLECK. 

There is an evening twilight of the heart, 

When its wild passion waves are lulled to rest? 
And the eye sees Life's fairy scenes depart, 

As fades the day-beam in the rosy west. 
'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret 

We gaze upon them as they melt away, 
And fondly would we bid them linger yet ; 

But Hope is round us, with her angel lay, 
Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour; 
Dear are her whispers still, though lost their early power. 

In youth, the cheek was crimsoned with her glow ; 

Her smile was loveliest then ; her matin song 
Was Heaven's own music, and the note of wo 

Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. 
Life's little world of bliss was newly born ; 

We knew not, cared not, it was born to die. 
Flushed with the cool breeze and the dews of morn, 

With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky. 
And mocked the passing cloud that dimmed its blue, 
Like our own sorrows then — as fleeting and as few. 

And manhood felt her sway, too ; on the eye, 
Half realized, her early dreams burst bright ; 

Her promised bower of happiness seemed nigh, — 
Its days of joy, its vigils of delight ; 



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283 



And though, at times, might lower the thunder storm, 
And the red lightnings threaten, still the air 

Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form, 
The rainbow of the heart, was hovering there. 

'Tis in life's noontide she is nearest seen, 

Her wreath the summer flower, her robe of summer green, 

But though less dazzling in her twilight dress, 

There's more of heaven's pure beam about her now ; 
That angel-smile of tranquil loveliness, 

Which the heart worships, glowing on her brow — 
That smile shall brighten the dim evening star, 

That points our destined tomb, nor e'er depart 
Till the faint light of life is fled afar, 

And hushed the last deep beating of the heart, — 
The meteor-bearer of our parting breath, 
A moon-beam in the midnight cloud of death. 

ART OF PLEASING. 
CHESTERFIELD . 

The desire of being pleased is universal ; the desire 
of pleasing should be so too. It is included in that great 
and fundamental principle of morality, of doing to others 
what we wish they should do to us. There are, indeed, 
some moral duties of a much higher nature, but none of a 
more amiable ; and I do not hesitate to place it at the 
head of the minor virtues. 

The manner of conferring favours or benefits is, as to 
pleasing, almost as important as the matter itself. Take 



284 



THE RHYTHMICAL BEADEK. 



care, then, never to throw away the obligations, which, 
perhaps, you may have it in your power to confer upon 
others, by an air of insolent protection, or by a cold and 
comfortless manner, which stifles them in their birth. 
Humanity inclines, religion requires, and our moral du- 
ties oblige us, as far as we are able, to relieve the dis- 
tresses and miseries of our fellow creatures : but this is 
not all ; for a true, heart-felt benevolence and tenderness 
will prompt us to contribute what we can to their ease, 
their amusement, and their pleasure, as far as innocently 
we may. Let us, then, not only scatter benefits, but even 
strow flowers, for our fellow travellers in the rugged 
ways of the world. 

There are some, and but too many in this country par- 
ticularly, w ho, without the least visible taint of ill nature 
or malevolence, seem to be totally indifferent, and do not 
show the least desire to please : as, on the other hand, 
they never designedly offend. Whether this proceeds 
from a lazy, negligent and listless disposition, from a 
gloomy and melancholic nature, from ill health, low r 
spirits, or from a secret and sullen pride, arising from the 
consciousness of their boasted liberty and independence, 
is hard to determine, considering the various movements 
of the human heart, and the wonderful errors of the 
human head. But, be the cause what it will, that neu- 
trality which is the effect of it, makes these people, as 
neutralities always do, despicable, and mere blanks in 
society. They would surely be roused from their indif- 
ference, if they would seriously consider the infinite 
utility of pleasing. 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



285 



The person who manifests a constant desire to please, 
places his perhaps small stock of merit at great interest. 
What vast returns, then, must real merit, when thus 
adorned, necessarily bring in ! 

Civility is the essential article toward pleasing, and is 
the result of good nature and good sense: but good- 
breeding is the decoration, the lustre of civility, and 
only to be acquired by a minute attention to good com- 
pany. A good-natured ploughman may be intentionally 
as civil as the politest courtier ; but his manner often 
degrades and vilifies the matter; whereas, in good- 
breeding, the manner always adorns and dignifies the 
matter to such a degree, that I have often known it give 
currency to base coin. 

Civility is often attended by a ceremoniousness, which 
good-breeding corrects, but will not quite abolish. A 
certain degree of ceremony is a necessary outwork of 
manners : it keeps the forward and petulant at a proper 
distance, and is a very small restraint to the sensible and 
to the well-bred part of the world. 

GENUINE VIRTUE COMMANDS RESPECT, EVEN FROM 
THE BAD. 

FENELON. 

DionysiuSy Pythias, and Damon. 

Dionysius. Amazing ! What do I see ! It is Pythias 
just arrived. — It is indeed Pythias. I did not think it 
possible. He is come to die, and to redeem his friend ! 

Pythias. Yes, it is Pythias. I left the place of my 



286 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER, 



confinement, with no other views, than to pay to heaven 
the vows I had made ; to settle my family concerns ac- 
cording to the rules of justice ; and to bid adieu to my 
children, that I might die tranquil and satisfied. 

Dio. But why dost thou return ? Hast thou no fear of 
death ? Is it not the character of a madman to seek it 
thus voluntarily ? 

Py* I return to suffer, though I have not deserved 
death. Every principle of honour and goodness, forbids 
me to allow my friend to die for me. 

Dio. Dost thou, then, love him better than thyself. 

Py. No; I love him as myself. But I am persuaded 
that I ought to suffer death, rather than my friend ; since 
it was Pythias whom thou hadst decreed to die. It were 
not just that Damon should suffer, to deliver me from 
the death which was designed, not for him, but for me 
only. 

Dio. But thou supposest, that it is as unjust to inflict 
death upon thee, as upon thy friend. 

Py. Very true ; we are both perfectly innocent ; and 
it is equally unjust to make eiiher of us suffer. 

Dio. Why dost thou, then, assert, that it were injust- 
ice to put him to death, instead of thee? 

Py. It is unjust, in the same degree, to inflict death 
either on Damon or on myself : but Pythias were highly 
culpable to let Damon suffer that death, which the tyrant 
had prepared for Pythias only. 

Dio. Dost thou, then, return hither, on the day ap^ 
pointed, with no other view, than to save the life of a 
friend, by losing thy own ? 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



287 



Py. I return, in regard to thee, to suffer an act of in- 
justice which it is common for tyrants to inflict ; and, 
with respect to Damon, to perform my duty, by rescuing 
him from the danger he incurred by his generosity to me. 

Dio. And now T , Damon, let me address myself to thee. 
Didst thou not really fear, that Pythias would never re- 
turn ; and that thou wouldst be put to death on his 
account ? 

Da. I was but too well assured that Pythias would 
punctually return ; and that he would be more solicitous 
to keep his promise, than to preserve his life. Would to 
heaven that his relations and friends had forcibly de- 
tained him ! He would then have lived for the comfort 
and benefit of good men ; and I should have the satisfac- 
tion of dying for him ! 

Dio. What ! does life displease thee ? 

Da. Yes ; It displeases me when I see and feel the 
power of a tyrant. 

Dio. It is well! Thou shalt see him no more. I will 
order thee to be put to death immediately. 

Py. Pardon the feelings of a man who sympathizes 
with his dying friend. But remember it was Pythias 
who was devoted by thee to destruction. I come to sub- 
mit to it, that I may redeem my friend. Do not refuse 
me this consolation in my last hour. 

Dio. I cannot endure men who despise death, and set 
my power at defiance. 

Da. Thou canst not, then, endure virtue. 

Dio. No : I cannot endure that proud, disdainful vir- 
tue, which contemns life ; which dreads no punishment; 



288 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



and which is insensihle to the charms of riches and plea- 
sure. 

Da. Thou seest, however, that it is a virtue, which is 
not insensible to the dictates of honour, justice and 
friendship. 

Dio. Guards, take Pythias to execution. We shall 
see whether Damon will continue to despise my authority. 

Da. Pythias, by returning to submit himself to thy 
pleasure, has merited his life, and deserved thy favour; 
but I have excited thy indignation, by resigning myself 
to thy power, in order to save him ; be satisfied, then, 
with this sacrifice, and put me to death. 

Py. Hold, Dionysius ! remember it was Pythias alone 
who offended thee; Damon could not- 

Dio. Alas ! what do I see and hear ! where am I ? 
Bow miserable ; and how 7 worthy to be so ! I have 
hitherto known nothing of true virtue. I have spent my 
life in darkness and error. All my power and honours 
are insufficient to produce love. I cannotboast of having 
acquired a single friend, in the course of a reign of thirty 
years. And yet these two persons, in a private condition, 
love one another tenderly, unreservedly confide in each 
other, are mutually happy, and ready to die for each 
other's preservation. 

Py. How couldst thou, who hast never loved any per- 
son, expect to have friends ? If thou hadst loved and 
respected men, thou w r ouldst have secured their love and 
respect. Thou hast feared mankind ; and they fear thee ; 
they detest thee. 

Dio. Damon, Pythias, condescend to admit me as a 



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289 



third friend, in a connexion so perfect. I give you your 
lives ; and I will load you with riches. 

Da. We have no desire to be enriched by thee ; and, 
in regard to thy friendship, we cannot accept or enjoy 
it, till thou become good and just. Without these qua- 
lities, thou canst be connected with none but trembling 
slaves, and base flatterers. To be loved and esteemed 
by men of free and generous minds, thou must be vir- 
tuous, affectionate, disinterested, beneficent; and know 
how to live in a sort of equality with those who share 
and deserve thy friendship. 

THE SLAVE TRADE. 
WEBSTER. 

The land is not wholly free from the contamination 
of a traffic, at which every feeling of humanity must for 
ever revolt — I mean the African slave trade. Neither 
public sentiment, nor the law, has hitherto been able en- 
tirely to put an end to this odious and abominable trade. 
At the moment when God, in his mercy, has blessed the 
Christian world with a universal peace, there is reason 
to fear, that, to the disgrace of the Christian name and 
character, new efforts are making for the extension of 
this trade, by subjects and citizens of Christian states, 
in whose hearts no sentiment of humanity or justice in- 
habits, and over whom neither the fear of God nor the 
fear of man exercises a control. In the sight of our 
law, the African slave trader is a pirate and a felon 
and in the sight of heaven, an offender far beyond the 



290 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



ordinary depth of human guilt. There is no brighter 
part of our history, than that which records the meas- 
ures which have been adopted by the government, at an 
early day, and at different times since, for the suppres- 
sion of this traffic \ and I would call on all the true sons 
of New England, to co-operate with the laws of man, 
and the justice of Heaven. If there be within the ex- 
tent of our knowledge or influence, any participation in 
this traffic, let us pledge ourselves here to extirpate and 
destroy it. It is not fit, that the land of the pilgrims 
should bear the shame longer. I hear the sound of the 
hammer, I see the smoke of the furnaces where manacles 
and fetters are still forged for human limbs. I see the 
visages of those, who by stealth, and at midnight, la- 
bour in this work of wickedness, foul and dark, as may 
become the artificers of such instruments of misery and 
torture. Let that spot be purified, or let it cease to be 
of New England. Let it be purified, or let it be set 
aside from the Christian world j let it be put out of the 
circle of human sympathies and human regards, and let 
civilized man henceforth have no communion with it. 

I would invoke those who fill the seats of justice, and 
all who minister at her altar, that they execute the whole- 
some and necessary severity of the law. I invoke the 
ministers of our religion, that they proclaim its denun- 
ciation of these crimes, and add its solemn sanctions to 
the authority of human laws. I call on the fair mer- 
chant, who has reaped his harvest upon the seas, that 
he assist in scourging from those seas the worst pirates 
which ever infested them. That ocean, which seems to 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



291 



wave with a gentle magnificence to waft the burdens of 
an honest commerce, and to roll along its treasures with 
a conscious pride, that ocean, which hardy industry re- 
gards, even when the winds have ruffled its surface, as 
a field of grateful toil ; what is it to the victim of this 
oppression, when he is brought to its shores, and looks 
forth upon it, for the first time, from beneath chains, and 
bleeding with stripes? What is it to him, but a wide- 
spread prospect of suffering, anguish, and death? Nor 
do the skies smile longer, nor is the air longer fragrant 
to him. The sun is cast dow r n from heaven. An inhu- 
man traffic has cut him off in his manhood, or in his 
youth, from every enjoyment belonging to his being, and 
every blessing which his Creator intended for him. 

FEELINGS EXCITED BY A LONG VOYAGE — VISIT TO A 
NEW CONTINENT. 

W. IRVING. 

To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he 
has to make is an excellent preparative. From the mo- 
ment you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacan- 
cy until you step on the opposite shore, and are launched 
at once into the bustle and novelties of another world. 

I have said that at sea all is vacancy. I should cor- 
rect the expression. To one given up to day-dreaming, 
and fond of losing himself in reveries, a sea voyage is 
full of subjects for meditation ; but then they are the 
wonders of the deep, and of the air, and rather tend to 
abstract the mind from worldly themes. I delighted to 



292 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER. 



loll over the quarter-railing, or climb to the main-top on 
a calm day, and muse for hours together on the tranquil 
bosom of a summer's sea ; or to gaze upon the piles of 
golden clouds just peering above the horizon, fancy them 
some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of 
my own, or to watch the gentle undulating billows, roll- 
ing their silver volumes, as if to die away on those hap- 
py shores. 

There was a delicious sensation of mingled security 
and awe, with which I looked down from my giddy height 
on the monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. — 
Shoals of porpoises tumbling about the bow of the ship ; 
the grampus slowly heaving his huge form above the 
surface ; or the ravenous shark, darting like a spectre, 
through the blue waters. My imagination would conjure 
up all that I had heard or read of the watery world be- 
neath me ; of the finny herds that roam in the fathomless 
valleys; of shapeless monsters that lurk among the very 
foundations of the earth ; and those wild phantasms that 
swell the tales of fishermen and sailors. 

Sometimes a distant sail gliding along the edge of the 
ocean would be another theme of idle speculation. How 
interesting this fragment of a world hastening to rejoin 
the great mass of existence! What a glorious monument 
of human invention, that has thus triumphed over wind 
and wave; has brought the ends of the earth in commu- 
nion ; has established an interchange of blessings, pour- 
ing into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries of 
the south ; diffusing the light of knowledge and the chari- 
ties of cultivated life; and has thus bound together those 



TUB RHYTHMICAL READER* 



293 



scattered portions of the human race, between which na- 
ture seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier! 

We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a 
distance. At sea, every thing that breaks the monotony 
of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved 
to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely 
wrecked ; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, 
by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to 
the spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves. 
There was no trace by which the name of the ship could 
be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about 
for many months ; clusters of shell-fish had fastened 
about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But 
where, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle has lcng 
been over;— they have gone down amidst the roar of the 
tempest y — their bones lie whitening in the caverns of the 
deep. Silence — oblivion, like the waves, have closed 
over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. 

What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what 
prayers offered up at the deserted fire-side of home! How 
often has the maiden, the wife, and the mother, pored 
over the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of 
this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkened 
into anxiety — anxiety into dread — and dread into de- 
spair! Alas! not one memento shall return for love to 
cherish. All that shall ever be known is, that she sailed 
from her port, " and was never heard of more.'' 

The sight of the wreck, as usual, gave rise to many 
dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the 
evening, when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, 

Z 2 



294 



THE RHYTHMIC Ali READER* 



began to look wild and threatening, and gave indications 
of one of those sudden storms that will sometimes break 
in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat 
round the dull light of a lamp, in the cabin, that made 
the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of ship- 
wreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a 
short one related by the captain. 

66 As I was once sailing," said he, " in a fine stout 
ship across the banks of Nev, foundland, one of the heavy 
fogs that prevail in those parts rendered it impossible for 
me to see far a-head, even in the day time ; but at night 
the weather was so thick that we could not distinguish 
any object at twice the length of our ship. I kept lights 
at the mast-head, and a constant watch forward to look 
out for fishing-smacks, which are accustomed to lie at 
anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smack- 
ing breeze, and we were going at a great rate through 
the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of ' a 
sail a-head! 5 but it was scarcely uttered till we were upon 
her. She was a small schooner at anchor, with her 
broadsiJe towards us. The crew were all asleep, and 
had neglected to hoist a light. We struck her just 
a-mid-ships. The force, the size, and weight of our 
vessel, bore her down below the waves ; we passed over 
her, and were hurried on our course. 

w As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had 
a glimpse of two or three half-naked wretches, rushing 
from her cabin ; they had just started from their beds 
to be swallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their 
drowning cry mingling with the wind. The blast that 



TttE UttYTHMlCAL REAfiEtl. 295 

bore it to our ears, swept us out of all further hearing. 
I shall never forget that cry! It was some time before 
we could put the ship about, she was under such head- 
way. We returned, as nearly as we could guess, to the 
place where the smack was anchored. We cruised about 
for several hours in the dense fog. We fired several 
guns, and listened if we might hear the halloo of any 
survivors ; but all was silent — we never heard nor saw 
any thing of them more! 1 * 

It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of 
"land!" was given from the mast-head. I question 
whether Columbus, when he discovered the new world, 
felt a more delicious throng of sensations than rush into 
an American's bosom when he first comes in sight of Eu- 
rope. There is a volume of associations in the very 
name. It is the land of promise, teeming with every 
thing of which his childhood has heard, or on which his 
studious ears have pondered. 

From that time until the period of arrival, it was all 
feverish excitement. The ships of war that prowled 
like guardian giants round the coast; the headlands of 
Ireland, stretching out into the channel ; the Welsh 
mountains, towering into the clouds ; all were objects of 
intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I recon-* 
noitred the shore with a telescope. My eye dwelt with 
delight on the neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies 
and green grass plots. I saw the mouldering ruins of an 
abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village 
church rising from the brow of a neighbouring hill— all 
were characteristic of England* 



296 



THE RHYTHMICAL READER* 



The tide and wind were so favourable, that the ship 
was enabled to come at once at the pier. It was thronged 
with people ; some idle lookers-on, others eager expec- 
tants of friends or relatives. I could distinguish the 
merchant to whom the ship belonged. I knew him by 
his calculating brow and restless air. His hands were 
thrust into his pockets ; he was whistling thoughtfully, 
and walking to and fro, a small space having been ac- 
corded to him by the crowd, in deference to his tempo- 
rary importance. There were repeated cheering and 
salutations interchanged between the shore and ship, as 
friends happened to recognise each other. 

All was now hurry and bustle. The meetings of ac- 
quaintances — the greetings of friends — the salutations of 
men of business. 1 alone was solitary and idle. I had 
no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped 
upon the land of my forefathers— but felt that I was a 
stranger in the land. 



CONTENTS. 

Apostrophe to Light, ..... Milton. 97 

Auburn ; or, the Deserted Village, . . Goldsmith. 124 

Art of Pleasing, Chesterfield. 283 

A Suspicious Temper the Source of Misery to 

its Possessor, Blair. 164 

Creation and Providence, Watts. 193 

Contemplation, Thomson. 243 

Childhood and Manhood — An Apologue, . . Crabbe. 256 

David's Confidence in God's Grace, ... 178 

Discovery of America by Columbus, . . Robertson. 248 

Extract from a speech of Mr. Curran in behalf 

of A. H. Rowan, Esq 224 

Execution of the Earl of Argyle, . . . Fox. 230 

Extract from Mr. Pitt's Speech on the Slave Trade, 270 

Falls of Niagara, Howison. 233 

Feelings excited by a long Voyage — Visit to a 

New Continent, W. Irving. 291 

God, . Derzhavin. 47 

Genius, Akenside. 201 

Greatness, ibid. 206 

Genuine Virtue Commands Respect, even from 

the Bad, Fenelon. 285 

Gifts are Nothing without Charity, . . St. Paul. 208 



298 



CONTENTS. 



Hymn to the Deity, Thomson 88 

Happy Freedom of the Man whom Grace makes 

Free, ....... Cowper. 100 

Human Frailty, ...... ibid. 132 

Industry Recommended, . . Lord Chesterfield. 264 

Industry Necessary to the Attainment of Eloquence, Ware. 227 

Job Bemoaneth Himself, 280 

Liberty and Slavery Contrasted, . . Addison. 118 

Motives to the Practice of Gentleness, . Blair. 162 

Negro's Complaint, ..... Cowper. 65 

Nothing Formed in Vain, .... Thomson. Ill 

Night Thoughts, Young. 149 

No Life Pleasing to God, that is not Useful to 

Man. — An Eastern Narrative, . Hawkesivorth. 194 

Niagara Falls, . . . . . J. M. Heredia 239 

On Pride, Pope. 112 

On the Importance of Order in the Distribution 

of Our Time, . . . . . Blair. 165 

Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity, 

the Source of Consolation to Good Men, Addison. 173 

On the Immortality of the Soul, . . . ibid. 189 

On Taste, ....... Melmoth. 215 

On Virtue, . . . . . . . Pope. 219 

On Sincerity, Tillotson. 274 

Parallel between Pope and Dryden, . . Johnson. 244 

Procrastination, Young. 38 

Providence Vindicated in the Present State of Man, Pope. 102 

Perpetual Adoration, . . . . . Moore. 142 
Patience under Provocations our Interest as 

well as Duty, Blair. 203 



CONTENTS. 



299 



Passage of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers 

through the Blue Ridge, . . . Jefferson. 242 
Penn's Treaty with the American Indians, Ed. Review. 258 

Reflections on a Future State from a Review 

of Winter, Thomson. 109 

Remarks of Mr. Clinton, in the Senate of the 

United States, on Threats of Disunion 

among the States, ...... 210 

Religion the only Basis of Society, . . Channing. 272 

Slavery, ....... Cowper. 43 

Speech of Lord Chatham, Pitt. 69 

Speech of Cicero against Verres, .... 151 
Speech of Adherbal to the Roman Senate, im- 
ploring their Protection against Jugurtha, . 155 
Speech of Mr. Wilberforce on the Slave Trade, . 221 

The Three Warnings, . . . Mrs. Thrale. 

The Hermit, Beaitie. 

The Chameleon, ..... Merrick. 

Thanatopsis, . . . . W. C. Bryant. 

The Rose, Cowper. 

The Millennium, ...... ibid. 

The Heavens and the Earth show the Glory and 

Wisdom of their Creator, . . . Goldsmith. 

The Morning in Summer, . . . Thomson. 

The Pleasure and Benefit of an Improved and 

Well Directed Imagination, . . Akenside. 

The Slave Trade, Webster. 

The Pursuit of Happiness often 111 Directed, Carter. 

The Creation Required to Praise its Author, Ogilvie. 

The Order of Nature, Pope. 

To the Ursa Major, H. Ware, Jr. 

The Planetary and Terrestrial Worlds Com- 
paratively Considered, . . . Addison. 



300 



CONTENTS. 



To-Morrow, Cotton. 148 

The Importance of a Good Education, . Addison. 160 

The Journey of a Day; a Picture of Human Life, Johnson. 168 
The Baneful Influence of that Sceptical Phi- 
losophy, which Bars us from the Comforts 

of a Belief in a Future State, . . Campbell. 178 

The Two Robbers, ....... Dr. Aikin. 181 

The Indestructibility of Matter, . . Dr. Arnott. 186 

The Importance of Language, .... ibid. 188 

To the Sea, Keate. 209 

The Thunder Storm, < Montgomery. 213 

The Voice of the Seasons, .... Alison. 218 

The Love of Country and of Home, . . Montgomery. 267 

The Goodness of the Deity, .... Paley. 276 

Twilight—Hope, . . ... . Halleck. 282 

Verses supposed to be Written by Alexander 

Selkirk, Cowper. 29 

Virtue in Humble Life, ..... Dodd. 183 

View of Mont Blanc at Sunset, . . . Griscom. 268 

Without God in the World, . . Rev. Robert Hall. 262 



FINIS. 



n 




